<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Unstable Origins by angeladex</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898628">Unstable Origins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeladex/pseuds/angeladex'>angeladex</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dysfunctional Teen Mutant Club [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men Evolution</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dissociation, Duncan Matthews is an asshole, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add more as I think of them, It Gets Better, Jack Winters is a piece of shit, Jack Winters' A+ Parenting, New to AO3 so I'm bad at tagging, Paul is a good bro, Pre-series Charles Xavier, Pre-series Jean Grey, Pre-series Logan, Pre-series Ororo Munroe, Pre-series Paul Haits, Pre-series Scott Summers, Pre-series Todd Tolansky, Pre-series companion, Scott had a shitty childhood, Violence, cross-posted on my ff.net account, non-consensual dream-sharing, origin stories galore!, the Origins, the perils of living in a house of mutants who can't control their powers all the time, using dissociation to cope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2006-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2006-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:01:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeladex/pseuds/angeladex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder about Scott Summers? What if there was more to his story? My take on how he came to be at the institute, drawing from inspiration of the original comic, putting in characters who weren't introduced in XME.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jean Grey/Scott Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dysfunctional Teen Mutant Club [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This...was the start of it all. I've waited to re-post it because it has so many chapters. TT.TT</p><p>In 2007, when I was picking characters to focus on and write about, and slowly developing the "world" that is my private canon for XME, I started writing about Scott, as a choice. </p><p>And I wrote. </p><p>And wrote.</p><p>And wrote.</p><p>And I wrote, like...20k in one go. </p><p>And I realized I had a lot more to say about Scott than I thought.</p><p>So he got his own, huge story. </p><p>And again, my writing is better, now? I hope? </p><p>Please to be gentle with the me from...nearly...twenty years ago...</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Meet Scott. His life sucks. Oh, also Xavier has a blurb at the end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott Summers closed his eyes tightly as he felt an all-too-familiar headache forming at the bridge of his nose. Since he was about 10, he had known he was…different somehow. He had headaches, and sometimes his eyes would burn. After accidentally putting a hole in the wall of the house he lived in at the time, he learned to keep his eyes shut whenever another headache began, lest he do serious damage to something--or someone--else.</p><p>Making his way blindly to the pitiful closet that served as his room, he expertly maneuvered the obstacles in his way, extracting a thick strip of cloth from a drawer by his bed. He tied it firmly around his head, ensuring that he wouldn’t accidentally blink, or let his eye twitch, for any opening, however small, was taken advantage of. He only hoped the headache would end soon.</p><p>Scott just sat on the edge of his bed, listening intently for any sign that his “guardian” was home. He let a scowl cross his features as he thought of the bad life he’d lived so far. Only 15 years of it. And he wished sometimes he’d never been born. His real family had died in a horrible plane crash when he was very young…the trauma had put him in a coma for several months.  After that, he’d been in a number of orphanages, and numerous foster homes, but no one wanted the angsty little boy who had headaches, and destroyed property.</p><p>That had all changed when Scott decided to run away from the orphanage. He had met a shady man who just called himself “Jack.” This man had taken him in off the streets, even knowing of his dangerous power. Scott soon realized that he was probably better off on the streets when he first became a victim of Jack’s foul temper. Scott had been beaten so badly that he’d been rushed to the hospital, and despite his pleas for help to the doctors, he’d been restored to an extremely irate Jack who didn’t appreciate his “little antics” in the emergency room.</p><p>When Scott picked up a sound from the next room over, he sat deathly still, afraid that the mattress of the bed would groan, giving him away. As it was right now, his “guardian” didn’t know he was home, and that was the way Scott preferred it. When he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming to his room, he whipped the blindfold off. It was bad enough to be discovered home, but it would be ultimately worse if it was learned that Scott was in the midst of a headache.</p><p>The first time this happened, he’d been taken outside and forced to demolish their car to collect insurance money. It had made Scott feel horrible afterwards. He felt like a criminal. Up there with the Living Diamond, a man so cunning the police never caught up to him. Or the Lady Deathstrike, whose entire body was indestructible. Only Scott wanted to be the good guy.</p><p>His door suddenly burst open. “Scott, come with me to the livin’ room.”</p><p>Scott immediately got up, moving to go through the door, but to his surprise, he bumped into the stationary Jack. He heard an amused chuckle come from him, and felt hands on his face.</p><p>“How’re yer eyes, kid?” he said, and Scott felt the fingers on his face trying to pry his eyelids open.</p><p>“No!” Scott said, struggling against the touch.</p><p>Immediately, the fingers retracted, and Scott felt his guardian start to pull him down the hallway by the arm, warning him to keep his “bazooka blasts” to himself. To emphasize his meaning, Scott was picked up by the collar of his shirt to the extent that he could feel foul breath on his face. “I’m warnin’ ya, if you so much as <em>twitch </em>an eye in my direction, yer gonna get it,” Jack growled.</p><p>Scott just nodded, thinking it best not to speak for the moment. He never knew when his voice would set him off.</p><p>“Good. We un’nerstand each other. In.”</p><p>Scott was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, stumbling, and he quickly scrambled into the room, bumping into the wall first in his haste, and nearly blinking. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, and put his arms in front of them. In some twisted scheme, his lasers could destroy anything, but were stopped by his skin. He couldn’t roast himself. He’d tried.</p><p>Scott realized at once that there were other people in the room. His fear kicked in, and he just stood in the middle of the room, not sure where he could sit, and not wanting to set off any of his guardian’s guests. He was shoved roughly to the floor from behind as Jack entered the room. He was kicked once for being in the way, but then blessedly ignored.</p><p>“Whas with the kid, Jackie-boy?” a voice slurred.</p><p>“He’s gonna be a part of our plans if I can help it, boys,” Jack replied. “I’ve been a scientist of sorts fer the las’ week ‘r so, and I’ve made me a chart concernin’ the boy.”</p><p>“Whaddaya mean, Jack?”</p><p>“Never mind, it’s between me n’ the kid, ain’t it Scotty?”</p><p>Scott just kept his arms over his eyes and nodded mutely. This time, though, it wasn’t enough. “Th’ boss is <em>talkin’ </em>to ya, short-stuff!” Scott jumped, feeling a hard clap on the back.</p><p>“Y-yessir,” he muttered, clamping his hands tightly over his eyes. He wished he had his blindfold. He felt another clap on his back, and amended this thought, wishing instead that he hadn’t been discovered home in the first place. He picked up his name again in the conversation and decided to try and listen. As long as he was pointedly being ignored, except for the guy who kept smacking him on the back, then he would do well to listen.</p><p>“We’ve been plannin’ this raid fer a while now, and I finally have Scottie’s problem worked out.”</p><p>Scott froze. <em>What</em>?</p><p>“Boss, whyzza kid comin’ widdus anyways?”</p><p>“He has certain…talents that could be useful to us,” Jack replied vaguely.</p><p>“What kinda --”</p><p>“Don’t ask questions.”</p><p>Scott was clapped on the back again. He shifted his position and felt a clap at the back of his head. He struggled to keep his eyes sealed firmly.</p><p>Jack didn’t seem to notice. Scott realized in horror that Jack had actually been paying attention to the dates that his headaches occurred, and could actually chart a pattern. Scott wondered what was to become of him. Another clap to his back.</p><p>“S’now, all we have left t’ plan izza ackshul times an’ stuff, right boss?”</p><p>“Right. I’ll contact everyone in the morning,” Jack finally ushered everyone from the room, though not without a final clap on the back from the man sitting next to him. Scott fell to the floor, and in his haste to catch himself, his eye opened a little bit, and even the half-second of exposure surely left a small hole in the floor. At least a crack. He brought his arms up to guard his eyes once more.</p><p>“Come on, kid!” Jack seized Scott by the collar of his shirt and roughly pushed the boy ahead of him out of the room, and back towards Scott’s tiny living quarters.</p><p>Scott was thrown to the floor of his room, and he felt his blindfold being tied firmly around his eyes.</p><p>“I toldja to keep yer bazookas to yerself, ya scrawny nobody!”</p><p>“I-I’m s-sorry --”</p><p>“Yeah, so am I!”</p><p>Scott felt himself being lifted up off the ground and thrown across the room. He broke a table on the way, hitting hard on the floor. He groaned as he heard Jack’s quick steps across the room.</p><p>“J-Jack, Please, I--”</p><p>“I’m the one who decided t’ letcha live in my home, and you try n’ destroy it? Huh, freak?!”</p><p>“It-it was an accident!”</p><p>Scott felt the man seize him by the hair. “I’m the one who letcha stay, instead a’ handin’ ya over t’ the cops!”</p><p>Scott was roughly shoved against the wall, and as Jack let go of his hair, he backhanded him. Hard. He didn’t fret about being roughed up, though, it was the fact that his headache got worse with each blow. He felt blood dribble down his chin. His lip had split.</p><p>“Ya don’t remember yer place, kid! I. Own. You! And I can kick yer face in if ya say otherwise!” Emphasizing his point, he kicked him several times in the gut. “Stay outta my sight, kid, ‘till I call ya.”</p><p>Scott held his head in his hands, more worried about his massive headache than anything else, even if he did have a broken rib. He just lay on the floor for a while, willing his head to stop hurting, and listening for any sign that Jack would bother him again tonight.</p><p>As the pain in his head began to recede, he risked getting up and stumbling over to his bed, forgetting that a broken table lie in his way. Once amongst the blessedly soft pillows and warm blankets, he shakily removed the blindfold, sighing in relief when he could safely open his eyes.</p><p>He surveyed the damage best he could through a little pocket mirror, deciding that a little soap and water would do him well. He bemoaned his swollen lip and the angry-looking welt on his face. He looked himself over for a long time, several thoughts running through his mind.</p><p>
  <em>I would have been better off at the orphanage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I should have nicked a bigger mirror.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I need a hair cut.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jack must’ve been wearing his trusty class ring. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Someday I might not be able to open my eyes at all without destroying something, so I’d better memorize my face well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This welt is huge! A ring can’t make a welt this huge!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Would it do me any good to sneak out tonight?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m starved.</em>
</p><p>His final thought was accompanied by a painful twist in his stomach. Usually his only meal was lunch, so he was sure to fill himself up pretty good, but having been kicked in the stomach a few times he wasn’t surprised it was confused.</p><p>Ignoring the protests of his ever-hungry belly, he lie down on his small bed, just remembering to set his alarm for school the next day, hoping he wouldn’t be bruised too badly come morning.</p><hr/><p>Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, a man named Charles Xavier picked up a ghost of detection on his advanced computer, Cerebro. He tried harder to detect the signature, but too much interference was picked up, and the signal seemed to be too far away. He shrugged it off, knowing something would happen for the mutant in question to expose themselves sooner or later, and when it happened, the Professor intended to be there to help.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Scott's life still sucks. Xavier and Ororo make sandwiches. Oh, look! Jean!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“SUMMERS!”</p><p>Scott sat up abruptly, pulling a shirt on and leaving the room before he’d even opened his eyes. Then he woke up. He stumbled into the area of the house that served as a kitchen, rubbing his eyes and attempting to put his shoe in his mouth. He realized his problem and pulled it onto his foot instead, looking around for Jack, who he assumed had bellowed his name from this location.</p><p>Realizing he wasn’t in the kitchen, Scott hurriedly grabbed his jacket and backpack, hopping back to the hallway while he put on his other shoe. He was seized by the arm and dragged into Jack’s “office.” He didn’t call it his bedroom for reasons unknown, and it didn’t look very roomy, so it was his office.</p><p>“Scotty, I jus’ wanted t’ make sure ya knew what was goin’ down t’day. Firs’ of all though, I gotta get on ya fer bein’ so clumsy. Got up inna middle of the night, and I bumped the door righ’ inna ya. We’ll go t’ th’ doctor t’ get ya fixed up, right kid?”</p><p>Scott just nodded, pulling his jacket on and committing the lie to memory. Because he would be asked, and lately he’d been having trouble with sleepwalking, so far as his friends and teachers were concerned.</p><p>“Secon’, I wanted t’ warn ya. I’ve been chartin’ yer “headaches,” Jack paused here and smiled wryly, “an’ yer due t’ have another one sometime t’day.”</p><p>Scott was actually grateful for this information. He knew he’d have to pack his blindfold now, which was better than he usually did. At the same time, having Jack know when his eye-blasts were going to occur was not a comforting thought.</p><p>“Las’ly, I wan’ ya home by 3:35. On the dot, un’nerstand, else I’ll be upset.”</p><p>Scott’s face almost fell. He knew he’d never get home that fast.</p><p>“Go on, then, go t’ school.”</p><p>Scott got his backpack, doubled back for his blindfold, got smacked upside the head when he bumped into Jack on his way back out the door, and then he was free. He felt himself almost immediately relax once he was out of Jack’s presence. He broke into a jog as he rounded the corner of the street, hoping to stop by the convenience store for some food before hopping the bus to his school.</p><p>On the way, Scott saw a good sized stick, and picked it up, hoping to use it to “see” when his headache started later today. He looked at his watch and stopped. He was an hour early. His alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet. He grinned and took off like a shot toward the store. Today, he would get a decent meal if he had anything to say about it.</p><hr/><p>Charles Xavier made his way slowly to the dining room of the massive house he shared with Ororo Munroe. Granted, the house was in his name, and his money paid for its up-keeping, but he had always tried to be generous with his money, since he seemed to have so much of it. He allowed the woman to stay in the mansion, never having to pay him, and she got a massive bedroom all to herself, as well as the area she seemed to have adopted for her vast garden.</p><p>His mental abilities alerted him that Ororo, also called ‘Storm’ was unaware of the approaching lunch hour, and was tenderly nursing the little plants in her special place. She had always liked the outdoors and any kind of open space, which made sense, considering her mutant ability was control over the very weather. Also, though, because she suffered from extreme claustrophobia.</p><p><em>Storm</em>, he called gently to her, though his lips didn’t move.</p><p><em>Yes, Charles? </em>She replied, sounding serene, even in her mind.</p><p><em>I detected that same signature again, but as usual, it was abruptly cut off.</em> Charles managed to sound somewhat worried through his telepathy. <em>Either the person in question has a highly dangerous power, or they are being forced to cut the signal short.</em></p><p>“Perhaps it is a little of both, Charles,” Ororo said calmly, entering the room.</p><p>“If they would just let the power engage for a slightly longer period, I wouldn’t have such trouble pinpointing their location.”</p><p>“I thought even a brief signal would pinpoint their location,” Ororo pointed out, carrying a bowl of salad to the table and sitting down.</p><p>“Usually that’s the case, but this particular signal seems to be too far away,” Charles said, helping himself to a plateful.</p><p>“Too far away for Cerebro to detect?”</p><p>“Heavens, no. For what I paid for that computer, it will find a mutant signature on the moon, should there be one there. No, it’s just far enough away to require a solid 5 seconds of usage.”</p><p>“I hope you find out, Charles. This big house seems so empty with Logan gone.”</p><p>“Yes. But he’s always been more his own man anyway. No walls could keep him in one place. Restless, you know.”</p><p>“I know, Charles.”</p><p>“Ororo, this salad tastes wonderful.”</p><p>“Thank you, Professor.”</p><p>Charles just smiled. It had been a long time since he considered Ororo his pupil. He remembered her as a college student, and as he had been a Professor at her college, she still, on occasion, forgot that he’d repeatedly asked that she call him by his first name, as a colleague should.</p><p>“And for the main course?”</p><p>“I took the liberty of buying sandwich supplies, since there are only two of us.”</p><p>“Of course. Hopefully, that will soon change.”</p><p>“I hope so.  It gets lonely here so quickly.”</p><p>“I agree. But we agreed to start this sanctuary, and it may take longer than we initially thought to get students in here.”</p><p>“Cerebro won’t fail you, Charles.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think it will. It’s that erratic signature that worries me.”</p><p>Ororo said nothing, just nodded in agreement and continued eating in silence.</p><hr/><p>Scott breathlessly arrived at his school, pausing to catch his breath. Today he would do everything he could to not be late to any classes, thus avoid detention, thus avoid missing the bus home, and thus avoid having the daylight beat out of him when he reached said home. It helped that he seemed to be running early. He sat down in front of the entrance of the school and began doing the homework assigned yesterday.</p><p>He obviously had other things going on at home, and rarely got a chance to do schoolwork, and this resulted in poor grades, more detention, and all of his teachers thinking he was a bad seed. Never mind that he was well-mannered and tested well on the material.</p><p>“Hey, Summers! Is this a sign of the Apocalypse? You are actually on time today!”</p><p>“Funny, guys,” Scott said good-naturedly, looking up at the familiar face and smirking.</p><p>“Dude! What happened to you?”</p><p>Scott quickly searched his mind for the lie he’d been instructed to tell today. “Sleepwalking troubles again,” he said, after barely a second’s pause. “Door opened right on my unsuspecting face.”</p><p>Grins broke out and laughter ensued, along with the playful punches to the shoulder as he was teased for being a klutz. Inwardly, Scott breathed a sigh of relief. He hated the excellent liar he’d become. But fear is a good motivation for excelling in things you don’t like to do. Fear of life on the street, no matter how good it seemed sometimes when compared to life with Jack. Fear of the horrible beatings and fear of going back to another orphanage. He hated all of them. He’d been in more than most people, in more places than he cared to remember, each as bad as the one previous.</p><p><em>At least Jack doesn’t care about my powers, just cares I don’t use them against him, and that he knows when they’re gonna be there</em>, he thought savagely, hating himself for thinking of Jack’s one redeeming quality. That one quality made Jack a better choice than the streets, the numerous foster homes, and even the other orphanages. Jack may be scum, and abusive and conniving, but he took Scott in of his own free will, and no one else had done that.</p><p>“Oy, Scotty, are you alive in there? Sleepwalking injuries affect your brain? We got Chemistry in, like, 3 minutes! Wanna copy my work?”</p><p>Scott shook himself out of his reverie, and thankfully accepted the papers that were being offered him, diligently filling answers in his own work. Either he’d cheat now, or he’d get a detention for not handing the homework in at all and today he didn’t want to risk it. He sped with the crowd into the school, not even bothering to drop his stuff off in his locker, fearing he’d be late for class. He arrived and sat in his seat as the tardy bell rung. First time he hadn’t been late this week!</p><p><em>Maybe I’ll get lucky today</em>, he dared hope. <em>Maybe I’ll actually make the deadline.</em></p><p>He felt a familiar ache dully entering the space right between his eyes. He snapped them shut.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe not.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Charles Xavier felt a mental nudge as Cerebro detected the emergence of a new mutant signature. He rushed to it, and was slightly surprised that it wasn’t the same signature it had been trying to pick up on recently. This one came up much quicker, complete with an impressive rotating full body photograph and profile. <em>Identity confirmed. Jean Grey, age 15. Location: Hartford, Connecticut, United States. </em>The voice said calmly.</p><p><em>Jean? </em>He thought in surprise. <em>Dr. Grey’s daughter carries the X-gene? </em>Charles knew the Greys. They lived not far from the college he once worked in. He had taught university classes with Dr. Grey, and had grown rather fond of his family. He decided that rather than go in person, he would wait it out until they decided to come to him. He respected the man very much and didn’t want to risk compromising his friendship.</p><p>Hopeful that his great empty house would soon have more tenets, he set Cerebro’s helmet aside and went to find Ororo.</p><hr/><p>It was the last class of the day, and Scott couldn’t be gladder for it. He could tell his teacher was getting increasingly annoyed with him each time he asked what time it was. He didn’t mean to be rude; he just wanted to make sure he got home on time. His headache had lasted all day, even growing worse steadily, and he hadn’t had the best time making his way blindly through the halls.</p><p>He’d nearly walked into the Girl’s room by mistake, and each time he entered a class, he had to explain his predicament to the teacher. The story he’d made up this time was a good one. He’d been saying he had a severe eye condition, and that his optometrist appointment was after school, thus avoiding detention as well as questions. He decided that saying ‘eye condition’ instead of ‘irritated eyes’ made it sound official, thus the lack of nosy questions, which he held no fictional answers to.</p><p>“What time is it?” Scott asked again, hearing a groan from the teacher.</p><p>“If you’re so worried about making your appointment on time, Mr. Summers, just leave. Read chapter 9 in the book and answer the questions afterward. Due on my desk tomorrow.”</p><p>Scott thanked the woman and left hurriedly, not believing his luck. He held his hand out in front of him and cautiously meandered through the hallways until hitting a door, and after determining which exit he’d just gone out of, broke into a sprint to catch the city bus, which would take him to Jack’s house faster. When he tripped in a hole in the grass, he remembered the stick he’d swiped that morning, and brought it out, helping his progress out fantastically.</p><p>Sensing someone following him, he spun around and loudly demanded to know the time.</p><p>“3:25,” came the muttered reply.</p><p>Cursing loudly, Scott increased his pace, soon feeling familiar territory beneath his shoes. He began counting the curbs he stepped off of, and abruptly turned left down an alleyway, hoping to make it on time. He clumsily opened the door to the little apartment, marching quietly to his room.</p><p>“Scott?”</p><p>Scott just winced under the blindfold, unsure whether he wanted to answer or not. Was he late? Was he early? Was he going to die? Deciding to take a risk he answered firmly. “Yes?”</p><p>“Scotty! Jus’ the kid I wanted t’ see! Come in ‘ere, Scotty, you’re right on time!”</p><p>Scott, hardly daring to believe his luck, slowly steered toward the too-sweet voice of his guardian.</p><p>“Come on, come on! We ‘ave stuff t’ plan, don’ we boys?”</p><p>Scott heard five or six grunts of assent as he entered the room at last and the door was quickly shut behind him.</p><p>“Siddown, string bean!”</p><p>Scott was pushed roughly into a chair, and he clutched at his backpack and walking stick. The latter was pulled from his hands abruptly and he didn’t say a word.</p><p>“Now Frankie is our driver. He’ll geddus anywhere we need t’ go, and he’ll be snappy abouddit, wontcha Frank?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Right. And Tommy-boy is our electrician. He’ll take care of the security that Scotty can’t, right Tom?”</p><p>Scott heard a grunt and assumed the man had nodded. What did Jack mean by ‘what Scotty can’t’?</p><p>“Vince is our muscle. He’ll be carryin’ a gun an’ watchin’ t’ make sure we ain’t seen if we don’t need to be.”</p><p>“That’s right, Jack.”</p><p>“An’ that leaves me, Scotty an’ John. I, of course, am the brains of the operation, an’ Scotty is our backup muscle. Since Scotty can’t see very well, I’ll carry his gun.”</p><p>Scott heard the general assent and started to panic. What were they talking about? Why would they have guns?</p><p>“John is our speed, an’ he’ll be getting’ us our goods. Right John?”</p><p>“Hai, Jakku-san.”</p><p>“Yeah, whatever. Do we all know the plan?”</p><p>Scott again heard the general assent and did something he immediately regretted. He questioned Jack.</p><p>“J-Jack, uh, sir, what are we g-gonna do?”</p><p>There was a deafening silence. Scott started to retract his statement. “N-n-never mind. It d-doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“Scotty, are you tellin’ me you don’ wanna part of the plan?”</p><p>“I d-didn’t say that, I j-just wondered what w-we were d-d-doing, but it d-doesn’t m-matter,” Scott said hurriedly, already knowing he’d screwed up.</p><p>“Scott, it sounds t’ me like you’re goin’ soft on me.”</p><p>“N-n-no sir, I’m r-ready t-to d-d-do what-whatever you n-need me to do,” Scott said, his fear growing as his stutter became pronounced. He was fine most of the time. It had developed when he first moved in with Jack -- more specifically right after his first trip to the hospital -- and he’d fought it hard; now it only re-surfaced when he was under intense stress. Like now. Or every day of his current life in Jack’s presence.</p><p>“Boy, if you cain’ even defend yerself, don’ bother!” Jack said angrily, and Scott felt the blow to his face, hard and fast. He thanked his lucky stars that his blindfold was still on.</p><p>“I-I-I d-d-didn’t m-mean any d-d-disrespect --”</p><p>“Git outta my sight, Summers,” Jack growled, picking him up by the collar of his shirt and bodily throwing him from the room, his backpack flying out after him.</p><p>Scott heard the door slam and he slowly got to his feet, wiping blood off his chin. He gathered up his backpack and its’ spilled contents quietly as he could, making his way to his little room. He felt the headache growing steadily worse, without any sign of reprieve. Maybe he never would be able to open his eyes again without destroying something.</p><p>
  <em>Why is this happening to me?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Haven’t I suffered enough? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What am I?</em>
</p><p>Scott realized then, much to his despair, that he was incapable of crying.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's Jean, for a change of pace! And also Scott. Whoops, didn't mean to...blow that...up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night was quiet and still. The street looked perfectly ordinary to anyone who might be passing through, but one house was anything but ordinary. Should passersby happen to look into the windows of Dr. and Mrs. Grey, they would see that nothing in the house was behaving normally. A girl of about 17 was sitting anxiously in the kitchen, and presently, a woman in her mid-thirties came into the room. The girl started talking immediately, asking the woman what was going on.</p><p>The woman just offered a hug, saying she didn’t know. Missing was Dr. Grey, the noted history professor. He’d once worked side-by-side with Charles Xavier, one of the best known intellects of the scientific community. Tonight, Dr. Grey knew that it was this man with whom he wished to speak.</p><p>Disregarding the lateness of the hour, he reached for the phone, about to start the undoubtedly long process that would be finding his old colleague and friend Charles. As if in response to his thoughts, the phone rang.</p><p>“Hello?” Dr. Grey answered immediately. He was somehow not surprised when Charles’ voice came through the other line. The man had a talent for doing that. It was a small joke the two sometimes shared.</p><p>“John, I felt a need to call you. Is anything wrong?”</p><p>“Charles, you always did have a knack for knowing when I needed to talk to you. I was just about to call.”</p><p>“Is your family all right?”</p><p>“Elaine and Sara are fine, it’s Jean that’s worrying us. She…Charles, she is reading our thoughts. Things are moving around her room, and she’s not touching them…what should I think?”</p><p>“Has anything happened to her recently?”</p><p>Dr. Grey sighed loudly. “Her…her best friend, Annie Richards. She died not long ago. The two year anniversary is in a few months.”</p><p>“You remember the thesis I was studying when we were colleagues? I think it might explain something.”</p><p>“Then she’s one of those…those mutants? Charles, you were right?”</p><p>“You say she is reading your thoughts? How did her friend die? Was it traumatic, or were you expecting it?”</p><p>“Was it traumatic? Charles, it was a fatal hit-and-run. Everything about it was traumatic.”</p><p>“And Jean witnessed it?”</p><p>“Yes. Lord, Charles, the girl died in her arms.”</p><p>“I have no doubt, she wished very much to soothe Annie in her final moments.”</p><p>“She was her best friend, Charles.”</p><p>“I believe the trauma awakened the dormant x-gene. I believe your Jean is a mutant, John. By the sound of it, a powerful telekine, as well as a telepath. Some areas, which I actually know very well.”</p><p>“So you can help her Charles?”</p><p>“I cannot cure her, John. And it is unmistakably a cure you seek.”</p><p>“There’s no hope?”</p><p>“There is hope, John. I have recently acquired a large Victorian house in Bayville, New York. Just a few hours from the city. I mean to make it a center to train young mutants. Help them hone their skills to blend into the world, and keep them safe.”</p><p>“I don’t know if we can just ship Jeannie off just like that. Elaine won’t hear any of it.”</p><p>“Might I suggest a change of scenery for all of you? Bayville isn’t that far away from a town not unlike Hartford. Small, friendly, lots of green space; just what the doctor ordered for a grief-stricken child.”</p><p>As usual, Charles Xavier had the perfect solution. John didn’t want to make any rash decisions; he’d consult Elaine. Maybe Jean’s problem would go away on its own.</p><p>“I implore you, please consider it, John. I believe she’ll quite like it there. It‘s called Annandale-on Hudson.”</p><p>“I have to talk to my wife, Charles… see how she reacts to it…”</p><p>“I understand, old friend. Please keep in touch. My doors are always open.”</p><p>John wordlessly hung up the phone, wondering, not for the first time, how exactly that man always managed to find the perfect solution without even realizing it.</p><p>John made his way into Jean’s room, noting with relief that she seemed to be calming down. Only one or two little things floating around now.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe she’ll fix this without Charles’ help.</em>
</p><p>Unknown to John Grey, as he gently closed the door and went in search of his wife and older child, two green eyes opened in the darkness, tear-filled and confused.</p><p>
  <em>What’s happening to me?</em>
</p><hr/><p>Across the country, in Anchorage, Alaska, another young boy was wondering the same thing. It was sunset there, and he could hear preparations going on in almost every other room in the small apartment. The pain in his eyes had been building steadily and he couldn’t think. His door opened abruptly and he was dragged out of his room. Once in the living room, he was met by Jack, who pushed him into a seat.</p><p>“The time’s near, boys, an’ all I ask is a minute with the kid.”</p><p>There were no complaints as Scott heard the gathered men leave the room.</p><p>“Kid, didja ever wonder why I took ya into my home?”</p><p>Scott nodded his head.</p><p>“Why, kid? Vocalize with me here.”</p><p>“I-I wondered why y-y-you’d want me here. You knew I was-was--”</p><p>“I knew you was a freak, right?”</p><p>Scott nodded again.</p><p>“Well, what didja answer yerself?”</p><p>Scott hesitated.</p><p>“Gowan and say it kid, I won’t hold it agains’ ya.”</p><p>“Well, I j-just figured you wanted to use my-my p-power for yourself.”</p><p>“Right in one. But I bet ya never figured there was more t’ the story than that.”</p><p>Scott shook his head, looking confused.</p><p>“I took ya in ‘cause I’ve been through it, kid.”</p><p>Scott’s eyes almost widened under the tight blindfold, but he kept them in check.</p><p>“I’m a freak too, kid. Jack Winters.”</p><p>“Y-you’re…you’re--”</p><p>“Yeah. I’m the Living Diamond.”</p><p>Scott felt his fear increase ever so slightly. “Are-are you gonna-gonna k-kill me?” he asked fearfully.</p><p>He heard the man laugh. “Naw. I coulda dunnit years ago if I’d wanted to.”</p><p>Scott must’ve not looked convinced, because suddenly Jack was angry again.</p><p>“Look, kid, I jus’ decided t’ keep ya here when I noticed a pattern in yer headaches. They’ve been gettin’ more n’ more frequent, right?”</p><p>Scott nodded uncertainly. Where was this going?</p><p>“Well, didn’t cha ever figure they’d eventually <em>never stop</em>?”</p><p>Scott paled. “Am I gonna--”</p><p>“Sorry kid, but I ain’t a doctor. Only person who can tell ya what’s what is some fancy-pants optometrist in Omaha. Nebraska, y’hear?”</p><p>“Can this doctor cure it?”</p><p>“Sorry, kid. I’ve been t’ a dozen doctors about my ‘condition.’ They figure itsa part of yer very DNA. They can’t screw wit anything that small. But this optometrist is good with people like us. Freaks, y’know? He could maybe fix ya with some special smokies so ya wouldn’t hafta be blind all the time.”</p><p>Scott was amazed that the words coming out of Jack’s mouth brought comfort.</p><p>“Will the headaches stop?” he finally asked.</p><p>“I charted ‘em t’ a point, kid, an’ that point was today. I dunno what’ll happen with yer head, but the spaces between yer headaches disappeared today. Basically, it’s bazooka-vision 24/7.”</p><p>Scott’s world crumbled. What were his chances of getting to Nebraska? He’d never be able to see again. He refused to open his eyes if it meant he’d take the chance of hurting someone.</p><p>“Hey, Scotty, jus’ hear me out, okay? If ya play straight with me, help me widdis job, I’ll steer ya in the right direction fer yer optometrist guy. Howzat? We gotta deal?”</p><p>Scott didn’t say a word. Just sat in mute wonder. Jack? Helping him out? What was the catch?</p><p>“Why are you being so nice to me?” Scott voiced aloud, and then automatically clapped his hands to his mouth. He was gonna get it now.</p><p>He heard a growl give way to a strained sound that Scott couldn’t identify.</p><p>“It’s yer birthday, kid. I didn’t wanna hitcha on yer birthday. Well,” he amended, sounding kind of guilty as he fingered the dried blood on Scott’s chin. “Not too bad, anyway.”</p><p>Scott was bowled over. It was his birthday? He thought back to the last time he’d actually seen a calendar. He relied on school for the days of the week, but was usually at a complete loss as to the date, and left it off of his homework assignments. Then he wondered how Jack even knew his birthday.</p><p>“Yeah, I figured ya didn’t remember. Mos’ kids make a big deal about their birthdays, an’ you was quiet as could be. I even decided t’ be generous an’ offer ya a cut in the profit we’ll make tonight.”</p><p>“I don’t need any,” Scott said immediately. No matter how nice Jack was being to him, Scott refused to use his power to blast some poor cops or guards for doing their job.</p><p>“Suit yerself, kid.”</p><p>Scott just stayed silent, and he heard the other thugs come back into the room, some of them muttering to themselves about “Kid doesn’t look like he’s had his talkin’ to.”</p><p>Then, they were off. To where, Scott didn’t know, but he hoped Jack’s kindness would hold when Scott refused to open his eyes.</p><hr/><p>Ororo Munroe was startled into sudden wakefulness as Charles Xavier’s voice entered her mind. She got up, pulling on a dressing gown and hurrying to her mentor’s study, where he sat by the phone, apparently having just hung up.</p><p>“Ororo, I’ve just talked with John Grey. His daughter has the X-gene. John is having trouble coping, and was against sending her here. Knowing Elaine, though, he’ll come around.”</p><p>“That’s wonderful, Charles. Is that all you got me out of bed for?”</p><p>“No, actually. I just felt Cerebro alert me, and I wanted you to come with me to see who it’s detected this time.”</p><p>“Perhaps it’s the one we couldn’t pinpoint before.”</p><p>“I hope so.”</p><p>Charles reached the massive computer, which was still configuring data. It was trying to pinpoint the source.</p><p>“Charles, I think it <em>is</em>,” Ororo said, somewhat excited despite the late hour.</p><p><em>Detecting mutant signature</em>. Cerebro said monotonously. There was a target on a map of the United States. It went selectively west, zooming until… <em>Identity confirmed. Scott Summers. Age 16. Location Anchorage, Alaska, United States.</em></p><p>Charles sighed in relief. He reached out with his mind to find Scott Summers…and frowned.</p><p>“What is it, Charles?” Ororo asked, noticing the look.</p><p>“Get the Jet ready, Ororo. This boy needs our help.”</p><p>Almost on cue, Cerebro detected another mutant.</p><p>
  <em>Detecting advanced mutant signature. Identity confirmed. Jack Winters. Age 43. Location Anchorage, Alaska, United States.</em>
</p><p>“The Living Diamond is with him?” Ororo said in surprise, hurrying her steps.</p><p>“It seems Mr. Summers has been living with him for a number of years.”</p><p>“I’ll get the jet ready.”</p><p>“I hope we aren’t too late.”</p><hr/><p>Scott felt hands on his face, as more people held him still.</p><p>“Open yer eyes, kid, or else I’ll putcha in a world of hurt,” Jack growled, and Scott felt Jack’s hands hardening. He was becoming the Living Diamond.</p><p>“I don’t wanna hurt anyone,” Scott said valiantly, his eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>John, the Japanese guy, kicked him in the face in an effort to force his eyes open.</p><p>“They all hate ya anyway. Yer a freak. Yer just payin’ em back fer all the times they looked atcha wrong,” Jack said, his voice going strange as the hard, sparkling substance coated his entire body.</p><p>Scott kept his eyes resolutely shut. He felt Jack in his mind.</p><p>
  <em>C’mon, kid, what can bein’ a hero do? Is it gonna getcha a nice shiny medal around yer neck? Nope. It’ll only take ‘em so long t’ figure it out. Yer a freak. An’ no matter how many times ya save their sorry mugs, they won’ see ya no different. Trust me.</em>
</p><p>Maybe he was right, Scott suddenly thought. Maybe he’d never be accepted. Maybe he should just take control and make them fear him.</p><p>Scott suddenly remembered the night Jack had put him in the emergency room. And the time he’d kicked him in the stomach so hard he couldn’t breathe. Or the time he‘d suffered with a broken nose for 2 ½ weeks before he finally got in to the emergency room. <em>Is that the kind of fear you want them to feel? </em>He asked himself, his voice startlingly calm.</p><p>Jack suddenly screamed in rage, and Scott winced. He felt rocky, jagged fingers on his face, next to his eyes, and before he could stop them, the energy beams burst forth. For a moment it just felt so wonderful to have his eyes open that Scott kept them that way, seeing everything in a haze of red. He saw the police car he was looking at get a hole punched through the windshield. Then he saw through the hole to a crane working on construction. </p><p>Scott was taken aback, still not quite believing that it was his eyes that were doing this. He didn’t even notice the pain anymore. Though he knew it was blinding. Scott destroyed the crane next, then, like before, he could see through it to the house beyond--</p><p>“NO!!” He screamed, shutting his eyes once more and bending low, covering them up with his arms. The pain was back in full force. He felt like his eyeballs were going to explode.</p><p>
  <em>Kid, don’t it feel better when they’re open?</em>
</p><p>Scott tried to block Jack’s voice from his thoughts. No. He would not open them again. He wasn’t going to open them, or else he’d hurt someone. He didn’t care if it was someone who hated him. He wouldn’t be the bully who took advantage of their weakness because he held the power to do it. He would never be the one to hurt someone weaker than he was. Never. Never. The mantra grew in his head, effectively kicking Jack out of it.</p><hr/><p>The man who called himself the Living Diamond physically stumbled. The mental manifestation of the Scott’s mantra was scary. As angry as he’d ever seen the kid, staring him in the face, shouting <em>Never Again</em>. Jack Winters returned, willing his diamond armor to leave him, and he decided to leave the kid there. He wouldn’t get much use out of him now.</p><p>Jack shuddered. The kid might hit him back, and that scared him. As long as he was kept broken and disheartened; as long as Jack scared the living daylights out of him, then he was manageable. Now that his reserve was so strong, he could actually figure out the truths.</p><p>Small truths that were Jack’s undoing. Like the fact that the kid was getting taller than him. His eye-blasts were much stronger than Scott thought they were. Even strong enough to punch a hole through his diamond armor. Or the fact that he actually had a spine. He just needed to figure it out, and Jack Winters was a dead man. And that really did scare him.</p><hr/><p>At an altitude of 10,000 feet in the air, flying over Montana, Charles Xavier smiled. He had a feeling Scott just did something immense. And his feelings were usually right. Perks of being a telepath.</p><p>Ororo Munroe, flying the jet, just cocked her head curiously. Xavier was always doing weird things that were normal for psychic people. Breaking off sentences and conversations, and then excusing himself, smiling at random in the middle of a seemingly dire situation…</p><p>The flight stretched on in silence.</p><hr/><p>When the ambulance finally arrived at the scene, they rushed the policemen and injured pedestrians to the ER, as well as the boy who was shouting about a searing pain in his eyes.</p><p>The EMTs who were in charge of the boy, Scott, could tell right away that they’d need more help if they were going to get him to let go of his face. They realized that he would answer their questions, though.</p><p>“What’s your name, son?”</p><p>“S-Scott. Scott Summers.”</p><p>“All right, Scott, I’m James, this is Shauna. We’re gonna ask you a few questions.”</p><p>“O-okay.”</p><p>“Will you let us look at your eyes, sweetie?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“If they’re hurting you--”</p><p>“<em>No</em>.”</p><p>The girl, Shauna, apparently decided to let it go. “Can you tell us how old you are, Scott?”</p><p>“Fif--Um, S-Sixteen. Sixteen, t-today’s my birthday.”</p><p>The two exchanged sympathetic looks.</p><p>“All right, Happy birthday, Scott.”</p><p>“Th-thank you.”</p><p>“Could you give us your parents’ names?”</p><p>Scott didn’t answer.</p><p>“Scott?”</p><p>“I…”</p><p>“What are the names? Parents? Guardians?”</p><p>Again the boy didn’t answer.</p><p>“What were you doing at the radiation plant?”</p><p>At this the boy finally spoke.</p><p>“Y-you mean we weren’t at a-a bank?”</p><p>“No, son…you were found at the radiation plant.”</p><p>Scott went silent again.</p><p>“Scott, where does it hurt besides your head?”</p><p>“My…my stomach…”</p><p>Scott tensed when the meds went to check over his stomach, which was the only part of him they could readily access, and they immediately clammed up. He was thin enough that several ribs showed, and there were four or five bruises the sizes of footballs marring his pale skin.</p><p>The questioning abruptly continued. “Scott, can you give us any name of anyone you need to have contacted?”</p><p>“No,” Scott said vehemently.</p><p>The woman nodded, and then continued with the other questions.</p><p>“Do you know your Social Security Number?”</p><p>But the boy wouldn’t answer any more questions. He started to say his headache was getting worse, and then started screaming.</p><p>“My eyes burn!” He moaned.</p><p>They arrived at the Hospital, and hurried through the emergency doors.</p><p>Screaming reached the ears of the doctor before the actual patient was in sight. He rushed to the ER doors, seeing the EMTs wheeling a teenage boy in. He had his hands clutched over his eyes and was filled in quickly that the kid’s head and eyes were “burning.”</p><p>“Son, I’m going to have to look at those eyes of yours.”</p><p>The doctor tried to pull his hands away from his face, but to no avail. He signaled the EMTs to hold his arms down, and they did so, but with a fair amount of struggling.</p><p>“Son, now this won’t hurt, I just have to have a look at your eyes.”</p><p>“NO! DON’T!!” The boy screamed. The doctor lifted an eyelid.</p><p>A red beam of energy shot through the hospital roof like a bazooka.</p><hr/><p>End of Part 1</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Do-de-do, just Scott. Doing his thing. Running away and stuff. Xavier is distraught(TM). Logan is through with these shenanigans.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott was surprised at how long he avoided detection upon leaving the hospital. He wasn’t supposed to leave, he knew. Someone would have to pay for the giant hole in the roof. Someone would have to pay for the minimal relief he’d received under their care. The cost of riding in the ambulance. The cost of food. The cost of the hospital bandage he’d taken with him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew it cost someone money, and it wasn’t him. He didn’t have any. Who would they go to?</p><p>Scott laughed at the thought of the outrageous hospital bill somehow finding its way to Jack Winters. <em>Not that they know I’m connected to him in any way</em>, he assured himself. <em>They might find my name on record somewhere, but it won’t be connected to Jack Winters</em>. Scott was determined to not be connected to anyone any more. He was a dangerous person to have around. What if his blindfold came off in his sleep? What if he accidentally hit some<em>one</em> with his beams? He couldn’t risk it. He sat for a long time after he’d walked for a long time. <em>I should have eaten before I left. Even Hospital food in my stomach is better than nothing.</em></p><p>Scott got to his feet, weighing his options as he walked. He could turn in for the night…under some park bench… <em>Why did I leave again? </em>He asked himself sarcastically as he hugged his arms close to his chest. Instantly he recalled the isolation he’d felt for days. The aura of uneasiness so thick in his room he could choke on it. The way everyone thought he’d suddenly pull out a machine-gun and kill them all out of spite.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. He reminded himself bitterly. <em>That’s why</em>. After he’d regained the health he’d lost to the extent that he didn’t feel nauseated every time he stood up, he’d bolted. Blessedly no one followed him. It wasn’t that he was in any way ungrateful for the help the doctors had begrudgingly given him. He’d been slowly nursed back to a semblance of health; something Jack had failed to do. But the seclusion had slowly been driving him insane. So he tightened the bandages around his eyes, making a secure blindfold, he found his shoes, and he was off.</p><p><em>Should’ve filched some scrubs or something</em>, he told himself angrily, trying to blow feeling into his icy fingers. He nervously listened to the sounds around him that didn’t belong in the air. Scuffing shoes, hushed whispers. <em>The best thing to do when you suspect you’re being followed</em>, he thought uneasily, <em>is to acknowledge it. Talk to them</em>.</p><p>“H-hey, do you have the t-time?” he called out, cursing his irritating stutter.</p><p>He heard a few snickers. They’d moved more or less around him. There were about three of them.</p><p>“I d-dunno. D-do we have the t-t-time boys?”</p><p><em>Maybe I remembered that wrong</em>, he thought uneasily, sensing them come in closer to him.</p><p>“I think we g-got the t-time, if you got the c-c-cash,” one taunted, and Scott felt distinctly claustrophobic. They were now in a tight circle surrounding him.</p><p>“I…don’t have…any money,” Scott said carefully, trying hard to keep his anxiety in check. He was shoved roughly for his trouble.</p><p>“He ain’t got money, he says,” he heard a voice say.  He was shoved the other way. He felt sudden panic as his blindfold was tugged at.</p><p>“Lookee, the st-st-stutter boy’s blind.”</p><p>“St-stutter b-boy, are you sure you d-don’t have any c-cash?”</p><p>“Let’s see if he really <em>is </em>blind.”</p><p>“D-don’t,” Scott said hurriedly as he felt two goons make to hold his arms while the third tugged at the knot.</p><p>“Ooh, look, he’s got his st-stutter back. You must be worrying him.”</p><p>“So why d-don’t I wanna take this off, Stutter-boy?”</p><p>“I…I have a-a highly in-infectious eye-c-condition,” Scott lied hurriedly. It didn’t sound convincing at all.</p><p>“An eye c-c-condition? Sounds serious!”</p><p>One of the goons holding his arm loosened his grip. “I dunno, you guys. If it’s contagious, we shouldn’t mess with it.”</p><p>“He’s pulling our legs, Einstein,” insisted the goon holding the other arm. “C-mon, I wanna see the color of his eyes.”</p><p>Scott panicked. “N-no!”</p><p>“What’s that matter? St-stutter-boy is finally afraid of us?”</p><p>“I d-don’t want trouble. If-if you t-take my b-b-blindfold off, I can g-guarantee, you’ll g-get it,” Scott said. He felt the goons’ grips grow lax, uncertainty dripping off them like sweat.</p><p>“Let’s just go. Leave him alone. He ain’t got money.”</p><p>“He’s bluffing, you idiots! Hold him!”</p><p>Scott felt the grips tighten once more about his arms. He felt the knot undo, and squeezed his eyes shut.  He felt vulnerable without something shielding them from his eyes. His eyelids could only do so much.</p><p>“Hey, his eyes are <em>glowing</em>.”</p><p>“It’s a trick of the light.”</p><p>“There ain’t any light.”</p><p>“It’s a <em>trick</em>, I said!”</p><p>“He really does have an eye-disease! Let’s go!”</p><p>“Give him the blindfold back! It’s contagious!”</p><p>“I wanna look at your eyes, Stutter-boy. Open ‘em.”</p><p>“You d-don’t want me to do any-anything like that. I p-promise,” Scott warned. The other two goons had abandoned his arms all together and stepped back several paces, muttering about germs and contagions. Scott took advantage of his freedom; not by running, but to shield his eyes further.</p><p>Scott was taken completely by surprise when a punch connected to the side of his head. He hadn’t sensed it coming. He unintentionally let his guard slip a little, and the power surged forth, a little weaker than it had before, but nonetheless effectively bowling the boy over, then his two comrades. Scott saw a telephone pole in his line of fire, then, suddenly, he didn’t. It was out of his line of vision. Before he could marvel at the power his eyes held, he clamped his hands over his them.</p><p>Immediately after the red beams of death had ceased, Scott heard the frightened boys cry out in confusion.</p><p>“Wh-what are you?!”</p><p>“How did you do that?”</p><p>“You’re some kind of…of Mutant!”</p><p>At that word, the three boys who had caused so much trouble ran off, leaving Scott alone with the broken wires of the telephone pole. He still hadn’t stood from being knocked over by that punch, and he scooted away from the offending wires, breathing heavily.</p><p>He had done it again. He’d endangered the lives of those boys. Even if they had almost mugged him, he didn’t want to <em>kill </em>them for it. <em>I’m a risk to everyone. I’m better off alone</em>, he thought savagely, tearing a ragged strip from the bottom of his tee-shirt, tying it securely around his eyes, using the most complicated knot he could think of.</p><hr/><p>Charles Xavier had been more than miffed upon ascending the ramp leading to the hospital and finding no trace of the boy’s mental readings. He’d searched with Ororo in the area where Cerebro had detected the mutant signature, and after borrowing the information from a few minds, had determined the route the ambulances had taken, thus which hospital the boy would be at. This one, to be precise. But he wasn’t there. That was the problem.</p><p>“The boy…ran away,” Charles said, after opening his mind a little to receive the thoughts of the doctors and nurses. He let a scowl briefly cross his features. “They didn’t even attempt looking for him.”</p><p>“Oh, Charles. What will we do now?”</p><p>“I have a few things to…discuss with the manager of this wing, and then I believe we’ll need to find Logan. Only he can properly pinpoint the boy. Not even Cerebro can do that. It will only detect him once he’s used his powers, and only to a certain radius.”</p><p>“Where is Logan right now, Charles?”</p><p>“I can only assume he’s gallivanting somewhere that involves a pool table, drinks, and a solid road to pick up speed for that blasted contraption of his.” Charles actually knew that Logan liked to spend his time on the move, so he was pretty difficult to track down. His past was unknown to him, and he liked the feeling of living day to day, lest he be plagued with terrible nightmares.</p><p>“Could you be more specific?”</p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t, but don’t worry about him. He knows when I need him. Always shows up at just the right moment.”</p><p>Ororo smiled. “He does do that, doesn’t he?”</p><p>“I’ll speak with the manager; you prep the jet for launch. I need to get back to Cerebro.”</p><p>“Consider it done, Charles.”</p><hr/><p>Scott made a quick meal of the scrapings he’d procured for the day. The first decent meal he’d had in two weeks -- a Twinkie, a packet of saltine crackers, and an apple. After passing out from the constant walking and no food, Scott had given in, submitting to his hunger, disregarding his pride, and sat a ways off the side of the main road, putting his hands out and calling to passersby for money or food. Whichever they preferred to give him.</p><p>Scott learned quickly that begging was frowned upon in this little community. He wasn’t even sure which town he was <em>in</em>, just knew that he was still in Alaska. He was kicked multiple times, cursed at, spat upon, and ridiculed, but it was worth it to ignore the trifles.</p><p>He was more than reimbursed when he felt coins, bills, or small bits of food being pressed into his hands. Satisfied when he heard these people say how impressed they were by his spunk, making it alone. Many who said they’d pray for him. He’d received more than his share of “God Bless You”. As nice as the gesture was, it was one that didn’t warm his heart like it was supposed to. Scott didn’t believe in God. It was like these people were telling him “Gesundheit” for all the good it did.</p><p>When he thought of God, he remembered seemingly random things. An uncomfortable tie, the smell of perfume, strong above him. Unspeakable dullness. Long, meaningless speeches, poking his younger brother, Alex, to keep the boredom at bay. Being pinched by his mother when this happened, scolding, and demands that he pay attention. He remembered asking God for a bicycle for Christmas. Asking God to please let him have a dog. Yelling at God for making his parents go away. Anger at God for killing his family.</p><p>Then, Scott remembered his first strike to the face. A hard, resounding slap; harsh punishment for the 10-year-old boy from his first or second foster mother, for committing some heinous crime or other. Something silly. Scott seemed to recall picking the daffodils in her yard. He’d even presented them to <em>her</em>. The thanks he’d received for his thoughtfulness? A slap so hard it left a light bruise. It was the final straw. God is good? God gives miracles? Angels exist? Puh-lease. His family was dead, he couldn’t find a new one that liked him, he had terrible headaches; his existence was a crummy one. And as far as young Scott Summers saw, God didn’t like him.</p><p><em>Well God</em>, he’d thought harshly. <em>I don’t think I want you in charge of my life anymore. From now on, </em>I <em>call the shots.</em></p><p>Scott pulled himself back to the present, warmly thanking the man who’d just given him a bill of some kind. “God Bless you, son,” he called back to Scott. Scott smiled thinly as he was expected to, then pocketed the bill and got to his feet. <em>I turned my back on this God everyone speaks of. I don’t need anyone’s blessings</em>, He thought astringently. <em>Just better luck</em>.</p><p>Patting his pocket reassuringly, he shakily got to his feet. He brought his hand to his head, wincing. His headache didn’t help things. He hadn’t had a headache since that fateful day at the radiation plant, but all but starving himself just after he’d gotten used to eating regular meals again was paying its toll on his body. He finally had decided what his first mission as an outcast would be. He’d get to the main body of the United States. Across Canada, down into the main 48, and then he’d find this eye doctor Jack had told him about. If he didn’t exist, except in Jack’s colorful imagination, so be it. At least he’d be away from Alaska. He hated it.</p><p>He started walking down the sidewalk, listening for sounds of a gas station. A Grocery store would be better. He could get real fruits and vegetables for less money there. He heard someone walking a ways in front of him, but before he could stop them and ask directions, he felt a hand on his arm. His defenses went up, he tensed, and he reached up to his eyes, making sure the tie was totally tight and secure.</p><p>“Easy, kid.”</p><p>“What d-do you want? I don’t have m-much money,” Scott said, wondering how the man could have snuck up behind him so easily. <em>Well</em>, he thought ruefully, <em>you aren’t exactly a master of the senses yet, blind-boy</em>.</p><p>“Thought I’d treat ya to a nice lunch, kid. How ‘bout it? You get lunch, I get some answers, get the picture?”</p><p>“What’s the c-catch?” Scott said immediately, positioning himself to run, need be.</p><p>“No catch, kid. My friend’s been lookin’ for ya. Jus’ wanna know why.”</p><p>“Look, I’m s-sorry, but I can’t g-go with you. I can’t p-pay for anything right n-now.”</p><p>“Pay fer what, kid? I ain’t houndin’ ya about some debt. I just wanna talk.”</p><p>Scott sensed that man was telling the truth, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d been wrong about people’s characters before. <em>Really wrong</em>, he reminded himself, thinking of Jack.</p><p>“Kid, what do ya have to lose?”</p><p>Scott relaxed a little bit, and the man noticed, putting his hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“What’s yer name, kid?”</p><p>“S-Scott. How ab-bout you?”</p><p>“Jus’ call me Logan.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More Scott, doubling as a jumpy-bean. "We cannot trust others, they hates us!" Dramatic dork. I love him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I don’t understand how you tracked him so quickly, Logan.</em>
</p><p>“Well, he moved a lot, but he took to walkin’ insteada hitchin’ a ride. I don’t think he likes small spaces very much.”</p><p>
  <em>Claustrophobia?</em>
</p><p>“Nah, that’s ‘Ro’s thing. This kid is… I dunno, Chuck. It’s like he’s afraida the dark or somethin,’ the way he travels. I picked up his scent real strong outside a little nothin’ town, like he’d sat there for hours, but it’s not in the main road. He wasn’t beggin.’”</p><p>
  <em>Sleeping?</em>
</p><p>“Nah, it was out in the open, and the kid usually finds somewhere away from the elements.  Maybe his powers are connected to somethin’ else we don’t know about. Heat?”</p><p>
  <em>No, I’d need to read him in person, not through Cerebro. </em>
</p><p>“All I know is that he doesn’t hitch when he can walk, and he only stops walkin’ when he’s hungry, then he begs. He’s driven, I’ll give him that.”</p><p>
  <em>Any idea where he’s headed?</em>
</p><p>“More’n likely the mainland. Get outta Alaska, clear his head…”</p><p>
  <em>Shall we prep the jet?</em>
</p><p>“I’ll call ya when I know for sure he won’t book it.”</p><p>
  <em>Keep me posted, Logan.</em>
</p><p>“Aye aye, cap.”</p><p>
  <em>Click</em>
</p><hr/><p>In Hartford, Connecticut, A young girl with red hair clutched at her head as the thoughts of her family broadcast themselves forcefully into her mind. If it wasn’t having objects big and small levitating around her room in her sleep, it was trying to block out the private thoughts of the people she loved most.</p><p>She heard the most thoughts of a school she could be sent to, not very far away, but the thoughts were quashed quickly, usually by her father thinking she would fix these “problems” herself. <em>Well</em>, Jean Grey thought to herself, <em>That’s one thing I don’t think I can do</em>. She glanced at a mirror she kept on her nightstand, watched in surprise as it lifted itself from the surface and whirled around, finally shattering against the wall.</p><p>She jumped, trying to focus on her hands. She’d started to see a pattern in the things in her room she destroyed. If she looked at them, or, moreover, if she thought about them, they’d usually end up being smashed in some way or another. The thing was, once the objects had decided their impending doom, there wasn’t much Jean could do to stop them from breaking.</p><p>She winced when she heard what had to be her lamp falling to its doom, and shattering. Her head ached. She somehow knew that she <em>was </em>doing it, she just couldn’t see how. She was exhausted, but didn’t trust herself to fall asleep. Who knew what kinds of things her mind would do while she wasn’t awake to guard it?</p><p>It didn’t help that she was exhausted from packing already. Her mother had come in earlier, telling her that they were moving. A nice, quiet little town in New York, she said. A move is just what we need right now, she’d said. As if she was trying to convince herself, too. <em>And she is</em>, Jean knew. Her father was against the whole thing, but her mother wanted what was best. That was the feeling she got from her mother’s comforting thoughts.</p><p>An image floated to the surface of Jean’s mind; herself, at about 12, playing in the yard of her house. <em>This house</em>, Jean thought offhandedly. <em>This yard</em>. Then, another girl, around the same age, eyes bright, smile brighter.</p><p><em>No</em>. Jean physically shook her head. She refused to have her thoughts tread that path. Annie Richards had died in a tragic car accident. End of story. Jean had convinced herself of this time after time, and had started to believe it herself. Jean had just imagined that she’d entered Annie’s very mind and seen her memories. It was a lie her brain wove to soothe her grief.</p><p>She’d been to enough counseling sessions, and she’d heard that same logic told to her time and again. <em>It was just grief and nothing more</em>, her brain chided her. <em>Then how can I move things with my mind? </em>She challenged her logic back. <em>How can I hear what people are thinking</em>?</p><p><em>You’ve been stressed lately, </em>her logic soothed, sounding a lot like her mother. <em>Your fatigue is making you imagine things. You aren’t willing things to move. You are just pretending to know what your parents are thinking. It’s a cry for attention. You are acting out to make your parents pay less attention to Sara</em>.</p><p>Jean could feel herself calming down, and started to feel tired. She stepped over the mountains of boxes and broken objects, deciding she’d clean it up in the morning. <em>Things will be better when we move</em>, she told herself, settling into sleep, having talked herself to exhaustion. She didn’t notice that the blanket she pulled over her shoulders hadn’t been on the bed before.</p><hr/><p>Scott didn’t like waiting. He didn’t like the feeling of not knowing what was going to happen next. He had felt this way whenever he waited for Jack to confront him about something. He’d waited, and the results usually weren’t good.</p><p><em>This time is different</em>, he tried to tell himself. <em>This time I’m going to talk with someone who understands me. Someone who might really be able to help me</em>.</p><p>He heard his companion sip contentedly at his coffee. The obvious relaxation the man felt was unnerving to Scott, who was more uneasy than he could ever remember being.</p><p>Deciding to distract himself, Scott decided he’d try to solve the dilemma of what to call the man sitting across the table from him. His name was Logan. He didn’t remember his last name, and Scott didn’t know how to address him respectfully. Mr. Logan? <em>If you wanted to respect him, you’d just call him ‘Logan’ like he asked you to</em>, his brain chided him.</p><p><em>But he doesn’t call me ‘Scott,’ </em>he argued logically with himself. <em>He calls me ‘kid.’</em></p><p>
  <em>But he just called you ‘Scott,’ remember?</em>
</p><p>“Scott? Take it easy, kid. You’re rippin’ yer napkin to confetti. What’s eatin’ ya?”</p><p>Scott jumped at the intrusion into his…argument. “J-just n-nervous,” he said quickly, willing his heartbeat to slow down.</p><p>“Why’re ya still stutterin’?”</p><p>“I d-d-dunno,” Scott struggled, his face heating up slightly.</p><p>“Instead of gettin’ nervous, how ‘bout gettin’ angry? When you were mad at me a minute ago, you spoke pretty clear.”</p><p>Scott reddened. A minute ago, the conversation had turned somewhat ugly…</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>“Ya want some more, kid?”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“I-I’m ah, not that hungry.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“…”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“…”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Ya sure?”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’ve spent enough m-money on me. I’m already in major d-debt with a bunch of p-people.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I don’t care, kid, if yer hungry, ya hafta eat. Waitress?” </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“I-it’s f-fine, really --”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Bring us another order of whatever it was that he just ate.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sure thing.” </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“See? Simple.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“You d-didn’t have to d-do that…” </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I toldja, I don’t care, kid, it ain’t my cash. It’s my friend’s. The one I was tellin’ ya about.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Y-you st-stole m-money f-from --”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Hold yer horses, kid, I toldja, he’s my friend. I’d never steal from him. I don’t steal, anyway. Not my style.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“They j-just g-gave you money to sp-spend as you p-please?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“That hard to believe? What’s with the stutter?”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“I-I’ve been trying t-to get rid of it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Look, kid. Ya don’t have to be nervous. I ain’t into hurtin’ kids. I have some good news though. My friend is comin’ up here. To this very café. You’ll getta meet him.”  </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“W-wait, what?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“My friend, Xavier, is comin’ to see you.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“He-he’s going to come all the w-way from New York to see me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Yup. Says we might even make a stop to an optometrist he knows. A specialist in the field, he says: best money can buy. We might fix you up with a visor. We’ll hafta work on findin’ somethin’ that stops yer power aside from that rag you call a blindfold.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“…”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“What’d I say, kid?”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Scott. It’s Scott. And you never m-mentioned any optometrist. I’ve b-b-been to a lot of them. They couldn’t f-fix my headaches, and they won’t be able to fix my eyes. I d-don‘t care what kind of sp-specialist it is.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I didn’t say that, kid.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Look. If I open my eyes, I cause d-damage. I won’t open them.”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“My friend Xavier can help ya learn to control it. Look, I used to have troubles. Got angry real easy. I have spots in my memory that’re lost to me. I’m still not sure my name is even Logan. But Professor Xavier helped me. And he can help you too.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Can he turn them off?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>*snikt*</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“What w-was that?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“The reason I can’t remember my life until 3 or 4 years ago. I know I was in a few wars, and I know I was born different, like you, but I had a fair bit of trouble.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“What was that s-sound?” </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Stick your hand out, slowly, and careful, they’re sharp.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“They-they are a part of y-your hands?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Yup.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Is this the-the thing that happened t-to you? Like m-my eyes happened t-to me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“...yes ‘n no, kid.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“What’s that supposed to m-mean?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I was born with the claws, but the metal…”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Some-someone put it there?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Yup.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did it hurt?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Yup.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“…”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“…”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“So…so you really know w-what I’m g-going through?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Yup.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“And your friend…he can h-help me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell ya, kid.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Scott.” </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Scott.”</em> </strong>
</p><hr/><p>“Look, I‘m s-sorry for what I s-said --”</p><p>“It‘s fine, kid.”</p><p>“I d-don’t like g-getting angry,” Scott continued, taking a breath and concentrating. “If…I try…really hard to stay calm…And I talk slower…then I don’t stutter as much,” he said carefully.</p><p>“That’s a noble goal to aim for, Mr. Summers.”</p><p>Scott jumped. The voice had come from behind him, not from Logan. “B-b-b-but I did-didn’t t-t-tell you m-m-my last n-name.” he whirled his head around out of habit to take in the newcomer, forgetting he couldn’t see him.</p><p>“Charles,” he heard Logan acknowledge.</p><p>“Logan.”</p><p>“’Ro.”</p><p>“Hello, Logan.”</p><p>Scott heard a woman’s voice join in, and he felt his heart rate jump again. “Are y-y-you P-Professor Xavier?”</p><p>He heard the man’s voice answer. “I am. Logan tells me you’ve been on your own for almost a month.”</p><p>Scott was bowled over. “A-a month? It’s b-been a m-month?”</p><p>He heard a musical chuckle. “Yes, Mr. Summers. It’s been a month.”</p><p>“Who are y-you?” Scott whirled to face the direction her voice came from.</p><p>“My name is Ororo Munroe.”</p><p>Scott felt a wave of calm radiate from her very person. He didn’t feel as jumpy anymore.</p><p>“How…How did you know my name?” Scott asked, turning back to the direction he thought the Professor was in.</p><p>“I know more than that, Mr. Summers. Perhaps you could tell me about your visit to the hospital?”</p><p>“H-how did you kn-know about that?” Scott said, nervousness creeping back into him. He felt a nudge at his mind, helping him control his anxiety; helping him control his stutter. Was this the man’s power? The thing that made him different from everyone else? Scott took a deep breath, finally calm again.</p><p>“Let’s just say, Mr. Summers, that you’re not the only one with special gifts,” the man said evasively. He paused and Scott sensed that he was waiting for the woman to sit down.</p><p>Scott wondered briefly at where the Professor’s position, where he was sitting, since he obviously wasn’t next to him. He heard his voice come from the end of the little table. Had he pulled up a new chair?</p><p>“In fact, Mr. Summers,” he continued, “Ms. Munroe and I are both carriers of an active x-gene.”</p><p>“What’s an ‘x-gene?’?” Scott asked, hoping he didn’t sound stupid. If he sounded too stupid, or came off as dangerous, then this man wouldn’t help him.</p><p>“An x-gene,” the Professor said, sounding like he’d been wanting to explain, “Is what triggers unusual powers to manifest in certain adolescents. A certain percentage of our bodies are made up of ‘junk DNA’ and no one could determine a use for it. Until now.”</p><p>Scott nodded, following. “And do I have one of these ‘active x-genes’?” he asked politely, knowing the man wanted feedback.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Summers. You have what I call the ‘mutant gene.’ I look at it as another step in evolution.”</p><p>“Scott. Call me Scott. Are you saying, Professor, that I’m a mutant? It’s a mutation?”</p><p>“Yes, Scott. I’ll be able to teach you better when we reach the school. With some help, you should better come to understand the scientific view of your genetics.”</p><p>“School?”</p><p>“Yes, Scott. I am starting enrollment for a school in New York. The front is a School for Gifted Youngsters, but in reality, all students will be mutants, learning to control their powers and blend in with society.”</p><p>Scott could swear he <em>heard </em>the man smiling.</p><p>“You know Scott, from the first moment I knew of your existence, I wanted you in my school. I knew that you’d be able to contribute something to my great dream.”</p><p>Scott smiled too, in pride. For the first time in his life, it seemed that someone genuinely cared for him, even after knowing he was a freak. <em>No</em>, he interrupted himself. <em>No, I’m not a freak. I am an evolved form of the human race. I am a mutant</em>.</p><p>Somehow, though he couldn’t have explained it to anyone, just knowing that he wasn’t alone, and that he wasn’t a freak of nature for being able to do the things his power let him do, Scott was comforted. And with that relief and comfort came an immense outpouring of happiness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jean! And Scott! And Jean and Scott meeting! And adults discussing...important adulty-things. But Jean and Scott!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jean Grey heard the discussions in her head long before her parents tried to talk it over with her. Her “problem” had been getting steadily worse with the stress she’d been under. On top of that, she lived in constant fear of accidentally thinking about something and sending it hurtling toward someone she cared for. She locked herself in her room for this reason and spent most of the time trying to keep her head clear.</p><p>When her parents argued, she couldn’t help but overhear. Not the physical voices, though, no, she heard the unfiltered thoughts of the argument. What wasn’t said aloud. About how her mother blamed herself for Jean’s oddity. How her Father thought she was a freak. Prominent in both their thought cycles, though, was that school in the city, and her Father’s old friend, Charles Xavier.</p><p>When her parents finally decided to try it, they were surprised to find Jean already packed and ready to go. For starters, Jean didn’t have much to do in ways of packing. Either it had been destroyed already by her mental onslaught, or was still in a box from the move. Secondly, she couldn’t stand the thought of endangering her family any more than she had already. <em>Besides</em>, Jean thought, reassuring herself. <em>That school is just half a day’s drive away, depending on the traffic.</em></p><p>So, in finality, Jean had enlisted Sara’s help in packing her stuff in the car, and tearful farewells had been made. And here she was, trying to concentrate on the small paperback novel in her hand and failing miserably. Small things kept floating into the air; a water bottle, her mother’s lipstick, the change in the ashtray; she was simply too anxious to get out of the car, and into this school.</p><p>She had reasons for this too: Jean had gone a little farther than she initially thought she could. She had reached into her father’s brain, pulling out memories and random facts about Charles Xavier, simply because she’d started to wonder if he could help her. So now not only did she have to keep her thoughts to herself, but she had to keep other people’s thoughts under a tight reign too.</p><p>Jean began thinking about the things she’d learned. He was a genius in the field of genetics, he was a paraplegic, bound to a wheelchair, and he seemed to have a knack for knowing when something was wrong.  <em>So maybe he does know how to help me</em>, she thought, watching helplessly as a quarter pinged against the window.</p><p>Seeing the looks on her parents’ faces, and, moreover, hearing their loud, worried thoughts, Jean just willed the car to go faster.</p><hr/><p>Scott had always hated being alone. When you grew up depending on only yourself, you had learn to  brush aside the loneliness you felt, because you couldn’t afford to be lonely if you were the only one who cared. As a result, he usually hid his true feelings from people. 16 years of basically being alone had convinced him that he was his only confidant.</p><p>It was a strange thing to be around people who cared whether he lived or died. Even stranger that he couldn’t seem to conceal his feelings. Well, one of these men claimed he was a telepath, and that would explain his lapse of control. Why lie when this man could read his mind anyway?</p><p>After Scott had decided he definitely wanted to go to this school, at least for a little while, everyone was only too enthused. Did he want to get some stuff from his old house? Did he need anything else to eat? Was his blindfold tight enough?</p><p>Scott answered the questions in the order they had come: Not only no but Hell No, No thank you, he was full, and yes, he believed it was. Upon getting up and beginning to follow the odd convoy to their vehicle, he realized for the first time, that this man was wheelchair-bound. He followed the steady hum of the gears, feeling better for putting so much trust in this man. At least he knew he could overpower him if anything started going funny. Not like with Jack.</p><p>He realized they’d been walking for a while, and remembered why it was so odd. Shouldn’t the Professor get power parking? If he was in a wheelchair, it had to count for a handicap sticker. He was about to open his mouth and say something, when the Professor intercepted the thought. <em>He is psychic, after all</em>, Scott reminded himself.</p><p>“I’m sorry for the long walk, Mr. Summers --”</p><p>“Scott.”</p><p>“Yes. Scott. But, you see, I needed special permission to land, not to mention a little…ah…<em>persuasion</em>, and I couldn’t very well get any closer --”</p><p>“L-land?” Scott paled and stopped dead. He heard Ms. Munroe and Logan stop as well, and the humming of the Professor’s wheelchair stopped, then started again. Scott could only assume he was turning around.</p><p>“Scott?” asked Ms. Munroe curiously.</p><p>“N-no one said anything about planes,” Scott blurted, his feet moving of their own accord. He was back at the little diner in a matter of seconds, and he could hear the straining hum of the wheelchair closest behind him.</p><p>
  <em>Scott, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. </em>
</p><p>Scott jumped, wheeling around. “P-professor? Was that you? D-did you j-just --”</p><p>“Yes Scott. That is another aspect of my mutant ability. I can project my voice into your thoughts.”</p><p>“I…I’m s-sorry, professor, It’s j-just --”</p><p>“It’s quite all right, Scott. I understand. I’m something of a psychic, remember? I only wish I’d picked up on your fear of airplanes.”</p><p>Scott remembered briefly the parachute, huge on his small body, the blazing fire, a sharp pain at the back of his head…then waking up all alone. He shook his head. The plane crash had been so long ago…but still certain aspects of the dim memory affected him. He didn’t like airplanes. He felt uncomfortable in Hospitals. He supposed it had to do with spending so much time in a coma, having to be hooked up to all the tubes and machines.</p><p>“We’ll arrange for other transportation --”</p><p>“I…I can’t avoid flying forever, Professor. Your plane is faster, and I don’t want you to spend more money on me than you have to,” Scott said, composed enough that his stutter had calmed down.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Scott just nodded, turning back towards what he thought was the direction he had come from.</p><p>“All right. Let’s rejoin the others.”</p><p>Scott heard the roar of the engine he could only assume was the jet, and took a breath. He started walking steadily toward the sound, unflinching and determined.</p><p>Xavier just smiled and followed, the hum of his wheelchair being drowned out by the immense roar that was the SR 71 Blackbird.</p><hr/><p>Jean clutched at her head, trying to make the intense pressure leave her mind. It wasn’t thoughts this time. Well, it was a little bit of thoughts, mainly worry blasting off her parents like a beacon, but she was moving more things this time. She had yelled to stop the car, getting out and huddling on the pavement, waiting for it to pass. She’d just nearly caused a traffic accident with the small debris she was kicking up outside the car.</p><p>Her mind was hurling rocks of various sizes at the passing cars, against her will, but it helped to not be surrounded by so many targets. There were only rocks and twigs outside, not like at her house, in her room. <em>I’ll be sure to tell the professor to nail down his valuables, lest my mind destroys them</em>, Jean found herself thinking, trying to hold the pressure in her head, placing her palms at her temples.</p><p>“Jeannie? Are you going to be all right?” <em>She looks like she’s in such pain! Does it hurt to do these things? I wish it was me instead.</em></p><p>Jean looked at her mother, trying to shoot her a comforting glance, but unable to. “It’ll be all right.” <em>It’ll be all right.</em></p><p>Elaine blinked, surprised. The words had come out of Jean’s mouth, but out of her mind as well.</p><p>John looked uncomfortable. <em>Maybe I should call Charles. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention to his thesis when we worked together. I don’t want her to go to the freaks’ house, but I trust Charles…maybe he can help her.</em></p><p>“Daddy…” Jean panted, as a rock shattered the back window of the car. <em>Help me. I can’t make it go away…</em></p><p>“It’s all right, Jeannie. Um…think of Sara. Think of the old house. Think of the new house.”</p><p>Jean felt the pressure receding. She focused on her father’s words, and on the things he told her to focus on, and slowly, the buzzing winked away. <em>How did my dad know how to help me? </em>Jean thought in amazement, breathing deeply and hugging her parents.</p><p>As when she’d asked herself about Professor Xavier, the answers just poured into her brain from her father. She remembered teaching a history class. A bright picture of Jeannie and Sara, smiling from the frame on his desk. Conversations with Charles Xavier. Him explaining how to guard his thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>It strengthens your mind if you do mental exercises, just like it strengthens the body to do physical exercises. This one is called a mental shield, or a mental block. I fondly call it psi-shielding for the human brain. Just focus on one certain thing. Or one certain person. Or one certain place. If you concentrate hard enough, it helps immensely.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Against what, Charles? One of these mutants you’re trying to prove exist?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Mutants do exist, John. I just want to find out how.</em>
</p><p>Jean shook her head, trying to break the connection she was sharing with her father. She had just innocently asked. She didn’t have his permission to just ravage his memories. <em>This is why I need to go to that school.</em></p><p>“You’re right, Jeannie,” her father said, hugging her tightly again. “We have you get you to that school.”</p><p>Jean, not even realizing she’d broadcast the thought, just nodded and cried.</p><hr/><p>Scott immediately tensed when the jet started shaking and straining. He then felt a hand on his shoulder and a soothing voice in his head, explaining that it was completely fine, and that the jet was just adjusting altitude. It would be smooth in a moment or two. Even better, it was. It calmed right down, just as the Professor said it would.</p><p>Their original plan was to see a certain Eye doctor the Professor knew in Omaha (Scott was amazed a word of truth had come out of Jack’s mouth when he heard this news)</p><p>But in the middle of the flight, he suddenly told Ms. Munroe to change direction. “Just head as quickly as you can back to Bayville. Jean is on her way and I’d like to meet her there.”</p><p>Scott gripped the armrests so hard his knuckles turned white. Not only did their speed increase dramatically, but it seemed there was almost zero wind resistance, and this unnerved him. He felt the Professor pat his hand and chuckle.</p><p>“Ororo has a way with wind, Mr. Summers. I assure you everything is fine.”</p><p>“Jeez, ‘Ro, I’m surprised there’s any wind resistance at all. Are you losing your touch?”</p><p>“I would retort most rudely, Logan, but flying an aircraft that weighs several tons, as well as creating a slipstream around us seems to be taking up most of my concentration. Perhaps if there was less weight…”</p><p>“Sorry, ‘Ro,” Logan apologized hurriedly, and Scott could’ve sworn the air in the craft lowered several degrees.</p><p>“Scott, I’m sorry about this turn of events. We didn’t think the Greys would come around for several days. This news is wonderful, of course, but it means a delay in visiting this doctor. Is that all right?”</p><p>Scott nodded. “I’ve been blind a month already; I can wait a little longer.”</p><p>“That’s what I thought you’d say. Now I’m going to project an image of my school into your mind. It’s unfair that you don’t get to see it.</p><p>Scott felt his mouth drop. It didn’t look like a school at all. It looked like…like a castle. The nicest building he’d ever seen….kind of anyway.</p><p>“I’m going to – to live here Professor?”</p><p>“Yes, Scott. Welcome to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Your new home.”</p><p>Scott just smiled again.</p><hr/><p>Jean was ready to go to bed when they finally reached the school. It was late; far later than it should have been, but their constant stopping had slowed their journey. Jean was relieved to have a measure of control over her powers, realizing that she could try her father’s focusing trick and the attacks wouldn’t last quite as long.</p><p>She barely registered the nice things in front of the mansion, just hoped enough things were too heavy for her to lift. If she couldn’t lift it with her arms, she couldn’t lift it with her mind, she’d noticed. She was vaguely aware of little snippets of conversations, and the thoughts that accompanied them.</p><p>“…hope he’s awake.”</p><p>
  <em>Please God, let him be awake.</em>
</p><p>“It’s awfully chilly for this time of year.”</p><p>
  <em>I hope Jeannie will like it here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jean, my name is Charles Xavier. Your father told me of your gift. I know you can hear me.</em>
</p><p>Jean’s eyes snapped open, and she stopped her father, who was about to knock again. “He’s coming.”</p><p>“How do you know tha--?”</p><p>The door opened at that second, and her parents glanced at Jean uneasily.</p><p>“Come in, come in John. You’ll all catch your deaths.”</p><p>“I can’t thank you enough for inviting us, Charles,” began Jean’s father. <em>You have no idea how much trouble it was just getting here</em>.</p><p>Jean ignored the conversation, instead rubbing at the dull pain in her temples. There were so many thoughts swimming in her head. Some were her thoughts, and most weren’t. She wished that the headache would just leave. That’s all she wanted to begin with.</p><p>As if reading her mind, the pain slowly began to recede. She heard a long-winded explanation, in thought form, from the wheelchair-bound man before her. It was obvious he’d been playing this mind game longer than she; he hadn’t even paused his light conversation with her parents.</p><p>
  <em>I can help you organize the thoughts for right now. I hope to teach you how to do that yourself. The beauty of having mind power is how quickly you pick things up. A mere thought and it’s learned.</em>
</p><p>Jean sent a weak smile his way in thanks. She sensed, more than heard, another presence in the room, and she turned as the door opened, revealing a beautiful woman, dark, but with hair a whiter, more gleaming white than she’d ever seen.</p><p>This woman smiled at her, holding the door for a stockier man, not far behind her. Everything about this man screamed <em>animal</em>, but Jean smiled at him too, sensing there was more to this man than met the eye.</p><p>This man seemed to have no regard for being polite, for he let the door close, and moments later, it was reopened, this time by a younger boy, about her age, oddly, wearing a blindfold, and dressed in a grubby T-shirt and jeans that needed a good wash. <em>He </em>probably needed one too.</p><p>The beautiful, dark woman had no thoughts projected. Jean was grateful for this. She heard one or two thoughts of the shorter man, but none were derogatory in any way; mostly concern for her and curiosity at her power. Jean smiled at him again, and was delighted at the half-smirk she received in return.</p><p>She didn’t pick up any thoughts from the boy either. <em>He must guard his thoughts</em>, she decided, and then belatedly wondered why.</p><p>Jean turned her attention back to the conversation ensuing without her concerning her future. She already knew she’d be better off here. Better than any of the alternatives, anyway. She’d seen the path her father’s mind had taken. If this school didn’t work out, it was either medication or being institutionalized.</p><p>“..and she’ll get her own room?” her mother was asking, thankfully leaving the thought unsaid. <em>I don’t want her sharing a room with that dirty boy.</em></p><p>The professor started explaining about the special room he’d make for her, with steel plating in the walls, and mass quantities of psi-shields.</p><p>Jean was busy giggling at the thoughts going on around her.</p><p>
  <em>Sigh-shielding? What’s that going to help? Scientific mumbo-jumbo, if you ask me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps, until the room is finished, we could put a bed in the Danger room. That would surely block any unwanted thoughts from projecting into her mind while she sleeps.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She must have a mighty powerful mind if Chuck is going to the extra trouble of reinforcing her room.</em>
</p><p> Jean took a more careful look at the boy with the blindfold tightened around his skull. Without realizing how curious she actually was she picked up a few things about him. Random thoughts that came to her mind before she could stop them.</p><p>
  <em>A cramped little bedroom; intense phobia of airplanes; 3:35 sharp. </em>
</p><p>She shook her head, not wanting to go into his mind without his permission. It wouldn’t be ethical. She let a smile tug at the corners of her mouth unconsciously as she looked at him a little longer. He was pretty easy on the eyes, if a little too skinny for her taste. Auburn hair, almost brown, but not quite, nicely defined muscle on his arms, and, she could assume, the rest of him. A little pale, but she didn’t like boys who were too tan. He screamed <em>boy scout</em>.</p><p>She turned back once more to the conversation, seeing an almost undetectable smirk on the paraplegic man. She reddened slightly, and realized that she’d missed the last bit of the conversation, and it had obviously been aimed at her.</p><p>
  <em>I can teach you how to avoid that as well, Miss Grey. Tell your mother not to worry, and that you’ll be fine. I believe that’s the answer she’s looking for.</em>
</p><p>Jean immediately smiled at her worried parents and assured them that she’d be all right. Her mother gave her a tearful smile, and her father just nodded. With that, her mother gathered up her purse, and her father started talking about getting her things out of the car, to which the shorter, stockier man grunted that he’d help with that.</p><p>The Professor shot her another smile, and the dark-skinned woman moved toward her.</p><p>“My name is Ororo Munroe. Welcome to the Institute, Miss Grey.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Jean said, smiling at her.</p><p>“And this is Scott Summers. He’s a student here as well.”</p><p>Jean smiled a little at the hand the boy offered, as it was too high and too close for her to shake comfortably. It showed he didn’t know how tall she was. To save him embarrassment, she took a step back and took the hand, shaking it warmly.</p><p>“Are you hungry? We have the means to make you the most delicious sandwich you’ve ever tasted,” Ms. Munroe smiled sheepishly, and Jean couldn’t help thinking the expression looked strange on her. “We haven’t quite prepared to have two students at once, and I’m afraid we haven’t any food for a proper meal.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Jean said, thinking longingly about her bed at home. “I’m just exhausted. I’d like to just go to sleep if that’s okay.”</p><p>The boy, Scott, stayed silent, and wordlessly tugged at the blindfold, keeping it secured tight. Jean noticed this action but left it alone, deciding that he’d tell her himself if he wanted to, and if he didn’t want to, it wasn’t her business anyway.</p><p>“If it please ya, yer majesty, where’s Red gonna stay?”</p><p>Jean and Scott jumped at the other man’s entrance as he dropped a great pile of boxes and suitcases on the floor. Jean hurried to bid goodbye to her parents as Ms. Munroe discussed the matter with him. When she gave them a final wave goodbye as they drove away, she just sighed. She was glad to be here, in this place where she might actually get help.</p><hr/><p>Scott tightened his blindfold for what felt like the 30<sup>th</sup> time, knowing he was being paranoid, but worrying nonetheless that it might slip and he’d blast someone. Logan and Ms. Munroe were muttering about where the girl, Jean, could sleep for the night. Scott understood that she also had some sort of destructive power, but he wasn’t clear on what exactly it was, since he hadn’t yet been told about it, and not being able to see for himself what it was, he waited patiently to be filled in.</p><p>As it was, it seemed she couldn’t sleep in a regular room or else she might hurt herself. (Scott, again, was unclear how exactly this worked out). It was decided that she would sleep in the “Danger Room” as soon as Logan set up a cot for her, and it would have to last for the few days it would take to reinforce one of the other rooms.</p><p>As if on cue, Scott heard the girl enter the mansion once more, shutting the door softly behind her. The Professor also made his entrance, making another round of introductions for Jean. He said that it had been a busy day for everyone, and that bed would be most welcome, and he asked Logan to escort Jean to the Danger room; then, as if it were an afterthought, he asked Scott to accompany them as well.</p><p>At that, Ms. Munroe and the Professor bid them goodnight, leaving Logan to shove a box in Scott’s hands and grunt at him and Jean to keep up, as he stalked off, leaving no room for complaint.</p><p>To his surprise, Jean fell into step beside him. There was an awkward silence, and just as Scott was about to break it with something undoubtedly dumb, she jumped in.</p><p>“It’s Scott, right?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah.”</p><p>“I’m Jean.”</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>There was another short silence, and Jean broke in again. “Do you have to wear that all the time?”</p><p>“Yes.” Scott didn’t hesitate.</p><p>“So…so you can’t turn yours off? Your…your power?”</p><p>“I guess not. The Professor said that he’d take me to a doctor to get me some kind of visor or something I could see through.”</p><p>“I can’t control when mine turns on and off, but it helps that the Professor is here. His power is kind of like mine, so he can help me.”</p><p>“So you’re a psychic too?”</p><p>“I think the term he used was ‘telepath,’ but I can also move things without touching them. That’s telekinesis.”</p><p>“Sounds handy.”</p><p>Jean snorted. “Yeah, I can see how maybe turning the radio off without touching it comes in handy. It’s stupid. All I can do is break things anyway.”</p><p>“I sure know about that.”</p><p>“You have telekinesis?”</p><p>“No, but I can look at something and destroy it.”</p><p>“Oh, then you do know what I’m going through,” Jean said, and Scott could tell she was smiling.</p><p>“Hey, so what do you look like?”</p><p>“I don’t know. How are you picturing me?”</p><p>“I’m picturing you as a disembodied voice that is shorter than me.”</p><p>“Right in one.”</p><p>“Ha.”</p><p>“All right, I’m a busty, blonde supermodel with perfect teeth and eyes as blue as cornflowers.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yep. Except for the part about the eyes, the teeth, the hair, and the whole supermodel thing, I’ve described myself perfectly.”</p><p>“Huh. Not much to go on.”</p><p>“Maybe I can help you there.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>She pulled him to a stop and he felt her fingers brush his temples. “I’ll try and show you.”</p><p>Scott didn’t say a word, and he felt something whispering in his head, but nothing more.</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I guess you have really strong mental shields, Mr. Summers, because I can’t get in.”</p><p>This was news to Scott. “Really? I’m not even thinking about it,” he said honestly.</p><p>“Maybe you could let your guard down a little?”</p><p>“I guess so…”</p><p>Scott felt the whisper, and it persisted in his head until he ‘saw’ the girl before him. It wasn’t the same thing the Professor had done, because he saw her as she saw herself. He could almost see captions underneath her, saying things like <em>I hate my hair, it’s too wild</em>, and <em>I’m not as pretty as Sara</em>, and <em>Annie’s hair was curlier</em>. To him she was rather nice-looking. Not a far cry from supermodel material, he thought.</p><p>She was taller than he’d initially thought she was, and she had the most vivid green eyes he’d ever seen. Her hair was like a waterfall of red, cascading down her back in thick waves and tresses. She had some muscle to her, and seemed very athletic, but at the same time, her posture was terrible, and she didn’t seem to have much self-esteem. <em>More like me than she knows</em>, he thought, as the picture faded.</p><p>He heard her stumble, and he blindly reached out in case he needed to steady her, and he heard her laugh. “I’m fine, but your mind’s hard to get into.”</p><p>“What makes you say that?”</p><p>“While I was in there, it was like something was shouting at me the entire time to go. My head hurts now, I know that much.”</p><p>“Look, Slim, if the girl says she’s tired, then she’s tired. I’ve been waitin’ at the entrance to the Danger Room for that last box, ya know.”</p><p>Scott jumped, and beside him, he heard Jean gasp in surprise. Mr. Logan had come back for them because they’d stopped.</p><p>“Sorry, we were just talking.”</p><p>“You two have a long time to do that. As it is, Slim, I’m waking you up early to see that doctor Chuck’s been goin’ on about. You gotta get some shut-eye…uh…some sleep.”</p><p>Scott frowned at Mr. Logan as he chuckled at his joke.</p><p>“I guess I’ll see you later then,” Jean said, and he heard her retreat toward the direction of Logan’s voice.</p><p>“I hope so, after I see that Doctor.”</p><p>“I hope so too. Good luck.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><hr/><p>End Part 2</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Scott! And Ororo and Jean! Lifted their conversation from the XME comic! And the introduction of trying to 'write' an accent I know nothing about! *jazz hands*</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott yawned pointedly, earning a gruff “get over it, Slim,” from Logan. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Then again, he’d never been one for night. He loved sleeping, on occasion, but even now, at 16 years old, he didn’t like the nighttime. He always felt safer in the daylight. The trouble was, he fully believed in getting a full night’s sleep. Healthy body, healthy mind? Something like that. And God knew he needed the ‘healthy mind’ part, but it didn’t stop him from waking at dawn every day to relish the sunlight. When he could see, he just liked watching the sun get bigger on the horizon. Now? He enjoyed feeling the growing light on his face.</p><p><em>Soon that will change, I hope</em>, he thought, yawning again. <em>I’ll get to see the sun again</em>. It was well before sunrise. Apparently Logan wanted him to get some food in him so he’d ‘stop lookin’ like a scarecrow and start lookin’ like a regular person.’ Even when he insisted he was full, not to mention sick of the smell of sausages, he had to have another heaping helping of eggs and toast before Logan deemed him fit to start his day.</p><p>He never would have thought of Logan as the cooking sort, but he didn’t burn the sausage, which was more than he could say for the places he used to eat. But Logan just grunted, and muttered something about not waking Ms. Munroe up. Scott had to quickly stuff some egg in his mouth to stop his laughter at the thought of Logan wearing an apron. And he hadn’t even <em>seen</em> the man.</p><p>
  <em>I believe we’re all ready to go. If you’ll kindly meet me in the hangar, we’re taking the Blackbird again. It will get us to our destination faster.</em>
</p><p>“Well kid, I guess that’s us. Let’s get you some shades.”</p><p>Scott shoveled in another few sausages and followed him out, steeling himself for the automatic panic that rose in his chest. Logically, he knew he shouldn’t still be scared of flying. He’d done it just yesterday. But it was hard to do. He couldn’t push back the memories of the doomed plane, sending flames his way. He remembered how fast the ground had come up, how confused he’d been upon waking up a month later, with no one left in the world to comfort him.</p><p>“If yer still hungry then –”</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” Scott interrupted, gulping down the last of his sausage and feeling ready to throw up. It wasn’t even that he’d had all that much. The plates weren’t that big, and the portions weren’t that good, (until Logan had served him a plate that is) but he’d gone so long with an irregular diet, if even a diet at all, that his body wasn’t used to the amount of food it was receiving. He suspected he’d gain a lot of weight after his body finally fixed that little problem.</p><p>Walking to the vast hangar where the jet was prepped, he remembered Jean. “Hey, is Jean coming?” he asked, hearing Logan chuckle. “Naw, she ain’t comin’. She told me after you left that she hadn’t slept a full night through in a month. Even before that she had nightmares. Somethin’ about her friend dyin’. How could I deny her a good night’s sleep?”</p><p>“You denied me a full night’s sleep,” Scott muttered, ducking as soon as he said it, expecting to be cuffed upside the head, but the blow didn’t come and he relaxed.</p><p>“Scott?”</p><p>Scott turned around out of habit, knowing he still wouldn’t be able to see whomever was addressing him. It sounded like –</p><p>“Hey, Red. Didn’t take you fer an early riser.” Logan said the sentence lazily, and Scott was afraid he’d say they had just been talking about her.</p><p>“I’m not, really, but I wanted to wish Scott good luck.”</p><p>Scott didn’t say a word, but felt her come up to him and hug him awkwardly. “I hope your trip’s a success,” she murmured, backing off.</p><p>“Uh, thanks,” Scott replied, at a loss for words. He felt Logan clap his shoulder.</p><p>“Come on, kid, the Professor’s waitin’.”</p><p>“Uh, okay. Gotta go,” he said lamely to Jean.</p><p>“I’ll see you when you get back?”</p><p>“Yeah. Sure thing.”</p><p>“Okay then. See you later Scott.”</p><p>“Bye Jean.”</p><p>Scott heard her retreat into the main house, and he slapped himself on the forehead. He heard Logan continue to chuckle at his expense.</p><p>“Nice job, Casanova,” Logan laughed, guiding him up the ramp to the Blackbird.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>Scott found himself being pushed into a cushy seat, and he went into his mini panic mode. Immediately he felt the Professor in his head, calming him down.</p><p>“Logan, if you would take control?” the Professor prompted him, and Scott heard him hum up beside him.</p><p>“Sorry Professor, I guess I’m not over it. I rationalized with myself all the way here, but –”</p><p>“It’s quite all right, Scott. I thought I’d take this opportunity to both distract you from your troubles and tell you a little about the doctor we’re meeting.”</p><p>“Okay, shoot.”</p><p>“Her name is Moira MacTaggert. She’s originally from Scotland, and she is temporarily set up in the United States while her home there is put in order. She worked with me long ago, but had to leave. We kept in touch, and I asked her to do this favor for me.”</p><p>“Is she a certified doctor?”</p><p>“In everything from psychiatry to medicine. I am taking you to the best because she is the best I know. And she knows about us,” he added. “I have told her of your brand of power, and –” he stopped for a moment as Scott started to protest, “let me finish – she has agreed to set up a room especially for you, and to set up tests for your particular needs.”</p><p>“Is it reinforced?” Scott asked bitterly, “if it isn’t we should just do the whole damn thing outside. But then I’d need miles of empty space in front of me.”</p><p>“Do you know how far your beams can reach?” Xavier asked, and Scott could tell it had just come to him and he was curious.</p><p>“No, and I don’t intend to find out.”</p><p>“If we could calculate the level of force when you open your eyes, then it’s just a mater of simple mathematics –”</p><p>“For all I know it varies. It’s weak enough to knock people over, but strong enough to punch a hole through a car. Does that answer your question?”</p><p>Scott was getting angry. He felt the professor once more in his mind. <em>I’m not trying to upset you. I’m sorry. It was just a matter of wanting to know more about your power. Do you have any clue as to a substance that stops it?</em></p><p>“My hands,” he said savagely, not quite ready to be nice yet.</p><p>
  <em>But we’ll need something transparent. Or perhaps just less opaque.</em>
</p><p>“I can’t think of anything,” he said, a little calmer.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s locked away in your subconscious. May I?” The professor phrased the question aloud, as a courtesy, asking Scott’s permission. Scott hesitated.</p><p>
  <em>I promise that whatever I may stumble upon in your memories or subconscious mind will stay between us. You have my word.</em>
</p><p>Scott finally nodded, trying to relax his mind. He remembered that Jean had said he had strong mental shields, and he didn’t want to give the Professor an undue headache. He felt the man in his head, and he could briefly see some of the Professor’s insecurities and fears. It made him feel a little better about the fact he was letting this man see into his hidden past.</p><p>The professor was worried that a war was coming. Should mankind realize the existence of mutants, they might react with hostility. He knew of someone who might try to bring a war about because he had experienced cruelty, and wanted to stop it before it came.</p><p>Scott felt the link dissolve and he shook his head, no worse for the wear. The professor, however, was panting slightly.</p><p>“I don’t think you even realize the strength it took for me to stay in your mind,” he said, winded.</p><p>Scott was bewildered. “That’s what Jean said too. I don’t even really try to –”</p><p>“I know, Scott. I’m sure Jean will be glad to have you as a housemate. You keep your thoughts to yourself, and it is a blessing for the minds that can pick the thoughts up.”</p><p>“Chuck, did you program the jet to go the right way? ‘cause I could’ve sworn I’ve seen that bit of trees before,” floated Logan’s voice from the pilot seat.</p><p>“Ruby Quartz, Mr. Summers, can stop the concussive beams in your eyes. We’ll see about forging you several pairs. One for every day use, and one for sleeping, to be sure. See if you can’t think what to use the other pairs for.”</p><p>The professor wheeled away, and Scott started thinking excitedly about all the things he’d be able to do again.</p><hr/><p>When Jean awoke for the second time that day, she was surprised first, to still be in her bed, and second, that she hadn’t had a nightmare or someone else’s dream. She then felt alarm at how she was going to get out of the Danger Room, before that too, passed, and she remembered that she’d gotten out of it earlier that morning to see Scott off.</p><p>She jumped as the Danger Room door whooshed open, revealing Ms. Munroe with a breakfast tray. On it, there appeared to be eggs, pancakes, and bacon. She felt pleased that the woman would go to this much trouble for her.</p><p>“I wasn’t sure what your preference was for eggs, so I just scrambled them. And there’s a choice of milk or orange juice, though the glasses are small and you’ll find you can finish both drinks.”</p><p>Jean smiled at the vast array of good-smelling food before her, and reached for her eggs without a word.</p><p>Ms. Munroe laughed. “I’m glad to see you aren’t picky. Mr. Summers seems to like any kind of food, so this makes my job easy.”</p><p>“No,” Jean corrected her, swallowing a mouthful of egg and orange juice, “your cooking is delicious. That’s what makes your job easy.” She thoughtfully chewed on her bacon and added as an afterthought, “So who decided to make you the cook, anyway?”</p><p>“I elected after seeing the state in which Charles leaves a kitchen, and not wanting to be shown up by Logan.”</p><p>“Mr. Logan?”</p><p>“Yes, he’s quite the cook, though he’ll die before admitting it. And Charles can’t help it. He gets caught up in the mind whom he borrowed the recipe from, adding ingredients to make the better mousetrap, if you will, resulting in a disaster area instead of a kitchen.”</p><p>Jean chuckled, finishing her milk and subsequently wiping the milk-mustache. She yawned then, and Ms. Munroe took her not-quite-empty plate.</p><p>“I’ll leave you to get ready. When you’re done, meet me outside. We’ll begin a lesson for you.”</p><p>Jean nodded, and the woman left, leaving a pleasant aura and a rich, wild scent in her wake. She hurriedly picked out some clothes to wear, and wondered briefly where she’d seen a mirror so she could properly tame her mane of hair. She pressed the button on the panel to the side of the Danger Room door, effectively letting herself out, and then continued to wind her way through the maze that was the subterranean level of the enormous house, finally coming across an elevator.</p><p>As she rose higher, she felt a pressure building in her head, and she rubbed her temples irritably, and when she reached the main level of the mansion, she was almost driven to her knees. She didn’t know why she was suddenly having trouble, and it dawned on her that the lower levels of the mansion were walled with steel, and had the special shields the professor had been talking about.</p><p>As she saw pictures rattling in their frames, and small potted plants start to rise into the air, she tried to remember what she had to do to raise her mental shields and effectively stop the telekinesis from randomly destroying things. She was about to just get back into the elevator, when she felt the calm presence of Ms. Munroe.</p><p>The air seemed to grow warmer, making her almost sleepy in the tranquility, and she found herself calming down.</p><p>“Just focus, Jean. Focus on blocking out the excess stimulus, and building a wall around your mind.”</p><p>Jean felt the pressure receding as her mental energies went into constructing a massive wall around her thoughts, and she sighed in relief.</p><p>“How did you know how to do that?” she finally asked, when she felt she was back under control.</p><p>Ms. Munroe smiled. “Come outside with me, Jean. It’s time for our little lesson.”</p><p>Jean obediently followed Ms. Munroe, out to a beautiful fountain, squirting water in delicate arcs below a strong stone angel. “It’s very pretty,” she said, smiling at the angel.</p><p>“Yes, it is. I like coming here every so often.” Jean relished the beauty, and Ms. Munroe’s voice barely broke the tranquility. “Imagine if you will, being attuned to the weather. Hearing every shift in the wind, feeling the very water cycle. There never isn’t weather. I too, have had to learn selective filtering. For control, I turned to the professor.”</p><p>Jean opened her eyes, which had closed of their own accord, and smiled at Ms. Munroe. “Can’t you teach me control? You have an air of calm around you. It helps me.”</p><p>“But Charles is better for you, with his empathy toward your situation.”</p><p>“What about the rest?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, the professor can teach me control, but who teaches me technique? Who empathizes with my burden?”</p><p>Ms. Munroe smiled. “Your technique you have to learn on your own, and as for the weight of your burden…that’s something I think you can talk to Mr. Summers about.”</p><hr/><p>Getting off the jet, one hand on the back of the Professor’s wheelchair, his balance being steadied by Logan, Scott sneezed. He wasn’t sure if it was just the dirt, or if it was the old myth that someone was talking about him, but sneeze he did. Afterward, he heard Logan chuckling at him, and elbowed his rib good naturedly. When they reached the end of the ramp, Scott loosened his hold on the chair, no longer afraid he might fall. He wondered on this Moira MacTaggert. What would she be like?</p><p>The professor seemed happy, as he started lightly humming to himself, getting steadily closer to their destination. Scott got the feeling there was more to this woman than the Professor let on. He tried to discreetly ask Logan about it, but just got a muttered reply about him not knowing the gossip, and that he hated doctors. Scott decided to leave him alone.</p><p>Soon, the professor’s chair slowed, his humming softened, and then grew silent, and Scott heard a strong knock at the door, courtesy of Logan. There were light, hurried footsteps, and the door opened. He could hear the woman’s exclamations of surprise and delight, masked in a thick Scottish accent, and Logan muttered about needing to check about something he forgot in the X-jet, but he was stopped by the professor, who insisted he come inside with them, to show support for Scott.</p><p><em>Right</em>, Scott found himself thinking. <em>He just wants Logan to make sure I don’t break anything while he schmoozes with his old girlfriend</em>. Logan was muttering much the same thing, and Scott grinned at him, hoping the grin was returned.</p><p>As Ms. MacTaggert and the Professor reminisced about old times, Scott and Logan kept to the room, twiddling their thumbs impatiently. Finally, the conversation ended, and Scott heard the woman’s light footfalls approach him. He looked up, out of habit, and smiled when she addressed him.</p><p>“Mr. Sumers?” she pronounced it ‘soomers,’ and Scott liked it. He nodded. “Ah canna imagine livin’ without yuir eyes. Are ye ready t’ be fixin’ it then?”</p><p>“I guess so,” Scott said, excited that he might be able to see again.</p><p>“Follow me, then, Mr. Sumers. Ah’ll be takin’ ye t’ a room ah prepared for ye. It can stan’ up t’ yuir blasts, make no mistake about that.”</p><p>Scott nodded, and couldn’t help remembering a similar situation with Jack. His headaches had been getting more frequent, and Jack had been delighted with the devastation Scott caused when in the midst of one, and subsequently, had led him to a building and told him to open his eyes.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“C’mon, kid, open ‘em.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“W-why, J-Jack?”</em>
</p><p><strong> <em>“Jus’ </em> </strong> <strong>do<em> it, kid!”</em></strong></p><p>
  <em>The comment had been accentuated with a sharp cuff upside his head, and Scott had done as he had been told… Only to see two safes in his line of sight. They had promptly crashed into the wall behind them, already broken, and Scott had snapped his eyes shut before he blew a hole in the wall. He had panted heavily then, his heart beating a million miles a minute. What if it had been a person? What if he’d punched a hole through the wall and hit someone? Whose safes were those? Had he just done something illegal? He was brought to reality with a pat on his back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Without meaning to, Scott had reflexively recoiled from the contact, realizing that it was a gesture of pride. Sounding annoyed, Jack had gruffly told him job well done. It had been one of many times Scott would be used as a tank.</em>
</p><p>He was brought back to the present as Doctor MacTaggert came to the room, opening the door for him. He robotically went inside, and listened to where everyone’s footfalls went. All behind him. Good. Still a little jumpy from the memory, he started when Doctor MacTaggert started cutting at his blindfold, automatically trying to push her hands away, before coming to himself and slowly lowering his upraised hands to his sides.</p><p>She finished, and with a soft murmur of completion, she pulled away from him, taking the material with her, leaving Scott feeling unsure and doubtful. When he didn’t do anything, Doctor MacTaggert cleared her throat.</p><p>“Mr. Sumers, ye can open yuir eyes now.”</p><p>Still Scott hesitated. He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut. He voiced his concern shakily. “You…you’re sure there’s nothing there?”</p><p>“Aye, Mr. Sumers. Nary a thing but yuirself an’ a reinforced wall.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“C’mon, kid! Nothin’s there, I promise.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“You…you s-sure?”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Cross my heart and crap. Swear to God.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“O-okay.”</em>
</p><p>When Scott shook his head and still didn’t open his eyes, Logan let out a loud sigh. “Look, kid, there’s nothin’ there. If ya want, <em>I’ll</em> stand there, since it’s buggin’ ya so much.”</p><p>“N-no, it’s…it’s f-fine,” Scott muttered, not able to shake the sudden memories.</p><p>“Scott, if you want to make sure, go ahead and touch the wall,” the Professor said, a touch of concern in his voice.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Scott snapped.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Jeez, kid it’s like you don’t trust me. You do trust ol’ Jack, right?”</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>Scott had hesitated, and had suddenly felt a fist collide with the side of his face. Screwing his eyes shut, Scott had put his hand to his face, feeling for chipped teeth and blood. He had heard Jack take the two steps that separated them in stride, yanking him to his feet. His face was forced in a direction, and Jack had started shouting at him.</em> <strong><em>“OPEN THEM! OPEN YER DAMNED EYES!!”</em></strong></p><p>
  <em>Scott hadn’t hesitated again, afraid of the consequences…but he’d still receive no food that night, after a brutal beating anyway for making Jack mad. </em>
</p><p>Again in the present, Scott shook his head, this time bringing a hand to the place where Jack’s fist had hit his jaw. He cleared his thoughts, replacing them with the calm he felt when he listened to the Professor. He knew he could trust him. Taking a breath, Scott slowly opened his eyes. He saw a wall. It was straining against his optic blasts, but holding up remarkably well.</p><p>He felt Doctor MacTaggert’s hands place something in his line of vision. She instructed him, from behind to hold it close to his face, and look straight ahead.</p><p>Scott was in a world of red. He felt like he was looking through a bottle. He jumped when a woman appeared in his line of sight, and hurriedly shut his eyes, calling out desperately, asking if she was all right.</p><p>“Ah’m quite fine, Mr. Sumers. Ye can open yuir eyes now, ah daresey.”</p><p>It was Doctor MacTaggert. Scott slowly opened his eyes, seeing the woman in front of him smile. She was hard to make out, since the glass, or whatever it was was so thick, but he could see her. She had hair to her shoulders, straight, and, he assumed, either brown or red. Everything had a red tint, and it was hard to differentiate color. She wore a white lab coat and the ugliest shoes he’d ever seen.</p><p>“So? How’s th’ quartz treatin’ ye, Mr. Sumers?” she asked him teasingly. Scott broke into a grin.</p><p>“This is fantastic!”</p><p>“Is it distorted?”</p><p>“A little, but I could live with it,” Scott said excitedly.</p><p>“Nonsense, Mr. Sumers. What kind of doctor would ah be if ah canna fix glass int’ proper lenses for ye? Not any sort of Doctor at all, ah’d wager! Jus’ close yuir eyes an’ ah’ll fix em up for ye.”</p><p>Scott eagerly shut his eyes, feeling the glass pane being taken away. He couldn’t stop grinning. He felt the professor’s hand on his wrist, and turned to it, still smiling like a fool.</p><p>“Scott, I’m happy for you, but I’m concerned for the difficulty you were having. Are you all right? Would you like to talk about it?”</p><p>Scott’s smile dimmed slightly. Oh yeah. Jack. He had to ruin his happy moment with Jack. “I’m okay now, Professor,” Scott tried to assure the man. “I was having some unpleasant flashbacks. I’m okay though.”</p><p>The professor was silent, and then went on in a thoughtful voice. “I picked up hostility from you, and fear.”</p><p>Scott sighed. “Jack used to mess with my head. He’d take advantage of my ‘headaches’ and use me as his personal tank. I guess I was having…trust issues.”</p><p>“You seemed to work through it all right though. I’m glad you’re able to take control of your impulses and reflexes. You’re doing marvelously.”</p><p>Before Scott could respond, a pair of sunglasses dropped onto his head. He straightened them onto his nose, and after okaying it with Doctor MacTaggert, he opened his eyes.</p><p>The world lay before him. It was much clearer than the pane of quartz had been, and he took in things for the first time. Professor Xavier was a small, skinny man in his wheelchair. He wore a suit coat and dress shirt but no tie. And he was bald. Xavier smiled at him, and Scott beamed. He turned around immediately, looking for Logan, and found him. He was shorter than him, that Scott knew already, but he had black hair that was tame but uncombed, and he had helped himself to a bottle of water he had found unopened on the countertop.</p><p>Sensing Scott’s eyes on him, Logan looked up. Seeing the sunglasses, he smiled lazily. “What’re you lookin’ at, kid?”</p><p>“You, Logan,” Scott answered immediately. “I’m looking at you.”</p><hr/><p>Jean found that when she stayed in the serenity of the fountain area, or in Ms. Munroe’s garden, she could concentrate better. <em>That’s the key to my power, right?</em> She asked herself rhetorically. <em>Concentration. That’s what the Professor taught me. Concentration and a cool head make for control</em>. It had made so much more sense when the Professor had just thought the lesson into her mind. Putting it in words somehow made it harder.</p><p>She was trying to water Ms. Munroe’s flowers for her, using water from the fountain, and her telekinesis, but it had resulted so far in making herself extremely wet.</p><p>She tried again, letting her mind focus on the task before her, and she smiled lightly when she managed to trap a bubble of water. It was a big bubble, too. Bigger than a basketball, she’d wager. She just needed to get it to the garden now without being distracted.</p><p>
  <em>Wow.</em>
</p><p>Surprised at the random thought, the bubble burst, and Jean was drenched once more. She turned angrily to tell off the loud thinker, but instead saw Scott. When had he gotten back? He was conspicuously blindfold-less, and sporting a new pair of sunglasses that looked a little big for him.</p><p>“Scott? When did you get back? You can see now?”</p><p>Scott smiled. “Yeah. I can. It’s a bit red for my taste, but it’s better than black. I was shocked that the professor was bald though.”</p><p>Jean giggled.</p><p>“So you seem to have more control. You sensed me here, even though I didn’t say anything,” Scott went on, fingering her wet shirt sleeve. “Though your telekinesis might need work.”</p><p>Jean flushed, remembering she was soaked. She immediately began wringing out her hair, nervously twisting it around in her hands.</p><p>Scott looked taken aback. “Oh, sorry. That was supposed to be a compliment. Or a joke. Or something.”</p><p>He himself looked distinctly red now. Jean smiled at him. “I just heard you come up, and it startled me…”</p><p>Scott just nodded, and the silence engulfed them once more, only interrupted by the steady dripping that was Jean wringing out her hair. When Jean started speaking, though, Scott did too, at the same time, resulting in another uncomfortable silence, and finally Jean looked at him. “Um, I’m glad you can see okay. The sunglasses are nice. I like them.”</p><p>Scott grinned at the compliment, and then his brow furrowed. “I just thought of something. How did you hear me coming?”</p><p>Jean flushed again. “Um, I didn’t, um, hear you like that. I heard you…” She tapped her forehead, and now Scott flushed again. “Oh. Sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying attention to my shields. The professor was trying to teach me how to build shields around my thoughts.</p><p>“You don’t need them,” Jean said, slowly tucking her hair back behind her and fiddling with her hands since they had nothing to hold. “I told you, your shields are really strong. I learned that mind-picking trick from the professor’s head…showing you what I looked like through our thoughts, you know? Your mind is very secure. I only hope I don’t accidentally project thoughts to you!”</p><p>Scott opened his mouth, and was saved by the surprised Ms. Munroe coming up behind him. “Jean! Why on earth are you so wet?”</p><p>Jean mumbled about trying to water her garden, and felt the moisture lifting off her, though her hair was becoming quite charged with electricity. She saw Scott’s mouth open in surprise, and Ms. Munroe’s entire eyes glowing white. She was using evaporation to siphon the water off. When Jean was relatively dry, with a very wrinkled shirt, Ms. Munroe stopped, looking satisfied. Scott’s mouth kept moving open and closed, having never seen her powers used before.</p><p>Jean gathered her massive mane of hair, trying to calm it down. It was sticking everywhere. She shrieked in indignation when it shocked her. Meanwhile, Ms. Munroe was telling them something about coming in for dinner, and then perhaps a training session with Mr. Logan, and Scott was enthusiastic, saying he’d been fashioned a visor for the occasion, and couldn’t wait to try and develop and train his powers.</p><p>“What about it, Jean, do you want to come in for dinner?” Scott had turned to her, and then smiled in amusement at how stubbornly clingy her hair was being. Jean just wished she had another hand…and it came to her. Why not? She was telekinetic, right? She closed her eyes, and concentrated on making her hair calmer. As soon as she completed the thought, it was as if she had multiple hands. As long as she kept focused on the task at hand, she could…</p><p>“Wow, Jean! How’re you –”</p><p>Jean kept enough hold on her concentration to not pull her hair out by the roots, and when she released her mental hold on it, her hair fell obediently into place, much less…sticky. She rounded on Scott, glaring.</p><p>“Sorry,” Scott apologized immediately, putting his hands up to stop any attack she might use on him. “Forgot. Concentration. No interruptions. Got it.”</p><p>Jean sighed. It seemed she’d need to siphon out for distractions like Ms. Munroe had said…</p><p>“Um, Jean? Do you want to…you know…go into dinner now?”</p><p>Jean nodded absently, gesturing for Scott to go ahead, and she heard Ms. Munroe chuckling ahead of her. Without meaning to, Jean picked up the thought that went with that chuckle, and it made her smile too. <em>It’s nice not to be alone…Indeed it is.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream-sharing Scott/Jean shenanigans got too much! Let's talk about Toad!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>There was water. It gushed up from the ground like a geyser. Scott somehow knew it wasn’t supposed to be there. The sounds weren’t right either. He knew there was supposed to be screaming, sirens…anything but this silence, as they just drove away, leaving him for dead…no…not him…but….it was him…somehow. A flash of yellow curls….intense pain….He was dying. He didn’t want to die. He was only twelve years old. </em>
</p><p>Scott sat up, gasping. He had no idea where this nightmare had come from. His nightmares usually involved the plane crash, or Jack. Nothing like this. He concentrated on it. There had been a car…but it had driven away…But they’d hit someone. Him? Or the girl with the blonde hair?</p><p><em>It was a sprinkler</em>, he thought absently, remembering the water shooting up from the ground. <em>The car ran over the sprinkler head</em>. He couldn’t think of what it was. A premonition? Something that was going to happen? Or a residual nightmare? <em>Certainly not mine</em>, he thought again. Then it hit him. It wasn’t his. He lived in the same house with two psychics. It must have been someone else’s.</p><p>Maybe the Professor? Something in his past? Or something he saw on Cerebro? Or was it Ms. Munroe? A nightmare amplified by the power of the telepaths in the house? <em>But she said she came from Africa</em>, he remembered. <em>They wouldn’t have had sprinkler systems or cars if they worshipped her as a goddess</em>. He grinned a little, trying to picture Logan in that scene. He had a healing factor, it certainly hadn’t been him dying, and he wasn’t twelve, either. He’d said he didn’t remember his past, either, so it didn’t work. Maybe…Jean? It would fit. But Jean wasn’t dead…</p><p>Scott rubbed his head, switching his goggles for the sunglasses on his nightstand. Then, with a sudden burst of insight, he pulled on a pair of pants over his preferred sleepwear of bowers and a tee-shirt, and hurried to Jean’s room. If it was her nightmare, she might still be having it.</p><p>He had to push hard on the door, and realized it was because a large chair was blocking it. Little things were floating around the room, not too fast, but not at a leisurely pace either. Jean herself was floating above her bed, looking worse for the wear. The things that had been floating around the room had been hitting her and scratching her in their journey, and at least one cut dripped blood on her face. Scott weaved through the storm of coins, makeup, and a particularly vicious curling iron, and got to Jean. He shook her arm, the only thing he could reach, and was surprised when she woke up immediately, crashing into him, landing them both in a heap on the floor.</p><p>Scott sat up, and was immediately hit on the head with 3 quarters and the curling iron. He scowled at the offending objects, and then turned his attention to Jean, who looked disoriented and half asleep. “Jean? Are you okay?”</p><p>Jean looked at him, eyes opening a little more when she realized she was sitting on his legs, and she made to get up, but she was shocked at the bruises already appearing on her arms and legs. “I don’t remember getting these,” she murmured tiredly, not noticing as Scott disentangled himself and helped her to her feet. He guided her to her bed, and they sat on it, Jean looking confused as Scott found a box of tissues and started cleaning up the cut on her face. There were traces of tears, whether they were from the fear of the nightmare or pain, Scott didn’t know, but he tried his best to wipe them up too.</p><p>Jean looked at him, still half-asleep. “I don’t understand. What are you doing in here? Why are all these things on the floor?” she gestured at the cluttered assortment of junk, and as a result, she saw her arm, bruised, tender, and scratched. “What made these?” she demanded, wincing as Scott blew on the cut to get her hair out of it.</p><p>“I think you had a nightmare,” Scott stated, nodding in acceptance as he finished wiping her face.</p><p>“How’d you know?” Jean asked, fingering the cut and wincing again.</p><p>“You shared it with me,” Scott said, smiling flatly.</p><p>That seemed to wake Jean up a little more. “I’m sorry. I thought the professor said the shielding was done…I’ll sleep in the danger room again –”</p><p>“No need,” Scott interrupted her, “I think it’s just because your door was open.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Your door? It was already open a few inches when I came to check on you. That’s why you broadcast the nightmare.”</p><p>“I always leave a few inches gap…” Jean muttered, rubbing her head, realizing there were bumps there too.</p><p>“Well, you should probably invest in a nightlight. If you don’t want to broadcast, anyway. I’m not sure what you can do about <em>this</em>.” He gestured to the things on the floor, the upturned boxes and ominously tilting bookshelf.</p><p>Jean looked around too, and she seemed genuinely shocked. It scared Scott a little. If this was how strong her power could be when she wasn’t controlling it…he could only imagine how much stronger it could get with training.</p><p>“Scott?”</p><p>Scott turned to look at Jean, who seemed ashamed of something. She was looking at her hands as she spoke, and for the life of him, Scott couldn’t figure out why.</p><p>“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to force my nightmare into your head,” she said softly.</p><p>Scott grinned. “It’s fine, Jean. I was glad it wasn’t one of <em>my</em> nightmares.” Jean finally looked up at him, and he grinned a little wider. “Mine are scary. Fire, explosions, ice apparitions…” he trailed off, not smiling quite as much. “I hate my nightmares,” He said plainly, looking at Jean again.</p><p>Jean took a breath, and started speaking again. “It’s because the anniversary is coming up. My…my friend, Annie, died two years ago this Saturday.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Jean,” Scott said, finally getting who the blonde was in the dream.</p><p>“That’s when…when I got my powers. I mean, I know the professor said…said that we are born with the mutant gene, and it wakes up when we get older, but he said the trauma might have forced it into being.”</p><p>“And you were twelve?” Scott could identify, but it didn’t make it any less hard for her.</p><p>Jean nodded. “Going on thirteen. My birthday is actually in about a month…I haven’t had much celebration since then though…”</p><p>Scott paused, and then spoke. “Do you want to tell the professor about this? He might not think you can start school if you’re still having nightmares.”</p><p>Jean paused too, and then finally nodded. “I have no choice. Even if I hide the nightmare from him, he’ll know anyway, because he’s a telepath too,” she looked at Scott, who nodded in agreement, “And there’s not a way to hide the nightmare if I have physical evidence that I had a telekinetic tantrum in my sleep.” She gestured to the mess, and both teens jumped as the bookshelf creaked threateningly, some books falling to the floor.</p><p>“We could clean up the mess,” Scott said thoughtfully, and Jean smiled.</p><p>“Unless you’re a master healer as well as a walking bazooka, I don’t think we can hide all the proof.” She showed her bruised and scratched arms to him.</p><p>“Well, we could make you wear long sleeves. It’s not that unconvincing, it’s not like it’s horrendously hot anymore.”</p><p>“He isn’t going to buy for a second that I’m cold, though.”</p><p>Scott sat in deep thought, Jean silently giggling at him. He looked up at her face, seeing her shaking with the effort of holding back her laughter. “What?” he asked her, smiling a little.</p><p>Jean started laughing aloud, not able to hold it in anymore. “You just…look so deep in thought…your face…is funny-looking!” she said between bouts of laughter.</p><p>Scott started chuckling, just because it was such a frivolous reason to laugh. It was refreshing to not be afraid of consequences. Whenever he’d laugh, when he lived with Jack, he had to have a damn good reason to do so, or else.</p><p>“Hey,” Jean said, smiling. “Mr. Summers can laugh. I didn’t think it possible. Unless…” she got up, went to her window, and looked outside, at the starry sky. She came back, shaking her head. “Nope, the pigs aren’t up there.”</p><p>Scott shook his head, since rolling his eyes wouldn’t have the desired effect, with his shades. “If we’re quite done then, I’m going back to bed.” He got to his feet, stepping over the small debris, somehow managing to trip over the offending curling iron. He glared at it again. It somehow looked smug, like it had had the last word… He straightened the sunglasses, which had come dangerously close to falling off, thanks to that…thing…and continued out the door.</p><p>He turned back, popping his head in the room in time to see Jean clearing off her bed, and called to her. “Hey, Jean?”</p><p>She looked up, startled.</p><p>“We’ll go tell the professor in the morning.”</p><p>She nodded, and Scott continued to his room. Once there, he switched his sunglasses for his goggles, shed his sweats (<em>How people can stand covering their legs with those is beyond me</em>, he’d thought savagely), and made sure his door was firmly shut. He dropped off quicker than he thought he would, and was soon sleeping soundly, like his sleep hadn’t been interrupted at all.</p><hr/><p>Jean was having a harder time getting back to sleep. She was afraid she’d have the nightmare again. She’d shut her door firmly, to avoid broadcasting it again, but that was something that was a factor in keeping her awake. She always had the door open, just a little bit, and having it closed, when she took so much comfort in having it open, was doing nothing for her poor mind.</p><p>She remembered Scott’s face. He’d been worried about her. <em>Though he was probably more worried that I was practically sitting on his lap</em>, she mused, smiling. She didn’t need to be psychic to know that Scott wanted her to go to school with him. He’d been delaying going himself, since they’d been trying to resize the sunglasses so they’d fit properly and not risk falling off, and she knew that he’d been secretly grateful for the delay, not wanting to really go. When her room had been finished ahead of schedule, Scott had been the first to suggest she go with him.</p><p>Tomorrow was supposed to be both of their first days, but like Jean had said, it would be impossible to hide the nightmare from the Professor when he was psychic himself. <em>Or…would it?</em> Jean’s sleep-craving brain was working better than she thought. She rolled over, setting her alarm clock for an hour earlier, deciding her plan might work. And so, with her brain busy planning instead of worrying, she quickly dropped off to sleep.</p><hr/><p>Professor Charles Xavier had to hand it to them. His students were sneaky. He set down Cerebro’s helmet, ready to go back to sleep. If it went off again, he’d have to tell Jean to skip school, he didn’t care about whatever plan she’d concocted, and almost on cue, his own mental detection went off. He immediately turned his chair around, and was ready to mentally call to Jean, but then he stopped. Cerebro had actually detected another mutant signature, neither Jean’s nor Scott’s. It wasn’t to say the computer knew who it was that it had detected. It seemed that this signature was erratic, as Scott’s had been. All the information he got was that it was at a point decidedly east.</p><p><em>Further than New York</em>? He thought, smiling. <em>We may have a transfer student coming here</em>. He was about to turn around again, when the computer went off a third time. Really, this is getting ridiculous, he thought, again turning around to go back to the computer. This time, it had locked on its target, but it wasn’t his current students, nor was it the foreign signature he’d just missed. This one was a confirmed signature; a new one, from Manhattan. <em>Identity confirmed</em>, Cerebro said tonelessly. <em>Todd Tolansky, Age 14. Location The Bowery, Manhattan, New York, United States</em>. Charles saw the footage of the boy, a little on the smaller size, and he had just leapt 20 feet into the air.</p><p>The telepath grinned. Then his grin faded when Cerebro continued tracking. Is every new mutant in the world going to reveal their powers tonight? He thought, somewhat grouchily. Then he paled. Oh no. Anyone but her. He nudged Logan, then Ororo, telling them to come to his quarters quickly. It seemed he wasn’t the only one doing recruitment. He shook his head and finally turned his back on Cerebro, ready to greet his two “teachers” when they came into his room. The name on the screen was a certain Raven Darkholme, and Charles knew that it would only be a matter of time before she’d show herself in Bayville.</p><hr/><p>Todd Tolansky found himself, for not the first time in his life, and most certainly not the last, in a heap of trouble. His day had started off simple enough. Wake up, hit the dump, catch some breakfast, hit the park, get some cash, get a real lunch, shake any cops, and find a place to sleep. He liked living day-to-day, not to say he was good at it. He could make the plan, and he could try his damndest to stick to the plan, but he’d somehow always wind up in trouble. He’d spent more time in Juvenile Court than he cared to think about, he’d memorized the routine one goes through when getting arrested, and he could tell how easy he’d be let off by the looks of the lawyer they got him.</p><p>Todd had always known he was different. Some people called him a freak, others said he was slightly deformed, and had he spoken to a man named Charles Xavier, he would have been called a mutant. Moreover, he’d probably been experimented on as a child to bring out the gene in his earlier years, resulting, instead, in his unattractive slouching problem. He was called a hunchback, but in reality, it was 14 years of sitting like a frog, because he found it more comfortable than sitting normally. He had a permanently altered spine.</p><p>Not that you’d see him complain. Todd prided himself on being called ‘Toad.’ His abilities allowed him to swim well, see in the dark, and to climb walls like freaking Spiderman! And he thought his tongue was cool. Not everyone shared his opinion, however. Most recently he had learned of his jumping ability. Man he could jump high! And distance? He could cover almost 25 feet in one bounce!</p><p><em>Not helping now though</em>, he thought, as he leapt ahead to escape those who pursued him. No matter how many shortcuts he thought he knew Todd wasn’t home in the Bowery. That’s just where his current lame-o foster parents lived. He was a Brooklyn kid. He’d loved visiting Little Poland the best, because they accepted him. He never had any idea of what they said, but he’d just told them his name and they’d taken him into their fold. He suspected it was the nature of his name, being polish. They called him “little fox” in English, and he’d smiled. Most people associated him with bugs.</p><p>Todd was ready to make his third loop around Central park, when his luck finally gave out. The tree he’d hit on his way to leap-frog to the next one had split. It was too young to have that kind of pressure added to it, and looking around dazedly after he hit the ground, Todd did notice that it had orange flags set up all over it, guarding it from the tourists.</p><p>He was seized roughly by two of the big guys, and he pleaded his case. “Come on, guys! Give a toad a break! I still got all the stuff right here. See?” He pulled wads of bills from his shirt, trying to get them to let him go. Would he really give back the money if they let him go? No. Did it matter when he could jump 30 feet into the air? No. Unfortunately, the goons seemed to know this too, and smartly ignored his fast-talking. Not that Todd <em>stopped</em> his fast-talking. You never knew when you’d land a rookie.</p><p>“Where we goin’ anyway? Fellas? I gotta call my mom, yo. She’s gonna wonder where I went.”</p><p>There was still no leniency from the goons, who didn’t even talk to each other. Todd figured he’d ripped off a gang leader or something. <em>Man, what else can go wrong?</em> He thought, turning his eyes heavenward. Apparently, a lot. Almost as soon as he thought that, one goon turned to the other. “Hey, are we goin’ the right way? We were supposed to bring him to the east side, right?”</p><p>The other goon grinned, then let go of Todd’s arm, rushing up to the first goon and head-butting him. Hard. Todd winced. “Take it easy, yo! <em>I</em> felt that!” The goon’s hand went limp as he fell unconscious to the ground, and Todd looked on in shock as the goon who’d instigated the fight started changing. He became a she. A strong-looking woman with blue skin, and a most wicked-looking smile. She seemed to think it funny that Todd was looking at her in fear.</p><p>“Hello, Toad,” she said, folding her arms.</p><p>Todd didn’t say anything, just started running. This was a crazy woman who could head-butt a dude into unconsciousness! No way was he messing with her!</p><p>She caught up with him easily, before he started leaping, and held him in the air by his grubby shirt. “Now Toad, don’t run. I’ve been chasing you for an hour, not to mention following you all day. I just want to talk.” Todd looked doubtful, but to his surprise, the woman put him down, and immediately changed again, into a classy-looking woman with a smart suit and horn-rimmed glasses. “Am I more presentable now?” she asked sarcastically. It was the same voice, just a different outer-appearance.</p><p>“Are you a freak too, yo?”</p><p>“We are not <em>freaks</em>, Toad, we are Homo-superior. And I have come to offer you a place in the army we’re building to oppose humanity.”</p><p>“No way, yo. I don’t want nothin’ to do with no opposin’ humanity. I jus’ wanna get back to Brooklyn so I can live out my freakish existence in peace.”</p><p>Todd found himself facing an angry-looking dragon creature. “Aw, why me?” he whined, as the thing advanced on him. He crouched low, leaping up and over the creature’s head. Then he took off. It wasn’t long before he was caught again: This time, a cheetah had pounced on him from behind, and it assumed the shape of the blue woman, who flipped him over onto his back.</p><p>“You <em>will</em> at least listen to my offer, you little slime ball, or I will get very angry,” she growled.</p><p>Todd’s eyes narrowed. “Listen, lady, I don’t <em>gotta</em> do <em>nothin’</em>.” In a quick act of acrobatics, he was over her, pinning her down. His feet were on either side of her stomach, and she looked livid. “Lady, since you’re sittin’ here changin’ into lizards and stuff, I can guess you know I got some powers too. Didja happen to see how high I jumped? That’s ‘cause I got muscles in my legs stronger than yer average homo-sapien, yo. Now,” he put a foot lightly on her stomach, emphasizing his point, “Do ya really want me to jump right now, usin’ muscles in these legs to propel myself, with you as a launchin’ pad? I ain’t good at math, yo, but even I know that ain’t no good on yer end.”</p><p>Despite looking furious, she managed to speak with a calmer tone. “I think we have both made our points. If you will release me, and promise not to run, I will not try to force you into anything.”</p><p>“Fine. But if I don’t like it, you won’t track me down as that cheetah, gottit?”</p><p>“Agreed.”</p><p>Todd moved his foot from on top of her stomach and moved into an impressive back-handspring, landing nonchalantly in a casual crouching posision, where he began cracking his knuckles. “Whatcha want, lady? If yer from some circus or somethin’ forget it. I got better things to do.”</p><p>She took a deep breath, and stood up, expecting him to do the same. When he didn’t, she gritted her teeth, looked heavenward, and instead stooped down. Seeing her in the same position he was, Todd smiled at her discomfort, and nodded at her, as if inviting her to continue.</p><p>“My name is Mystique. I have acquired an old house in Bayville that I’m using as a boarding house for mutants, like yourself. You will be expected to train, hone up your skills, and to attend the local high school, where I am masquerading as the principal. In doing this, you won’t have to pay tuition or rent; you will, essentially, get room and board for free, and get the police and child-services off your back until you turn eighteen. All I ask is that you don’t completely destroy the place, and do errands and assignments for me.”</p><p>Todd looked at her suspiciously. “What’s the catch, yo? I ain’t never heard of no mutant safe house before, why now?”</p><p>At this, Mystique smiled again, rather darkly. “Because, Toad, we now have the means to win the war we will inevitably get to. I can’t tell you any more than that, but I can assure you, that with the plan we’ve worked on, mutants will be living in heaven on earth.”</p><p>Todd brightened up a little. “Well, I guess you can count me in then, yo. I ain’t never had heaven on earth. Do I gotta go to school though?”</p><p>Mystique stood, and this time, Todd stood as well. “Yes, Toad, you will have to go to school. But soon you’ll be joined by others like yourself. Allies, as well as enemy mutants to keep an eye out for. And we’ll fashion you a suit that will be more comfortable for you to use your abilities, for when you are in training.”</p><p>“Is that why you’re wearin’ that weird getup? Skulls enhance your ability?” Todd spoke before thinking, and Mystique’s hand tightened on his arm. To her credit, she didn’t immediately try to flay the boy alive. No, she merely smiled at him in a horrible, false way, and patted his arm robotically. Not to say she wasn’t picturing horrible things being done to him though.</p><p>“Oh, in case you were wonderin’,” Todd went on, apparently not noticing now close he had come to becoming road kill with his innocent little statement, “My name’s Todd. Todd Tolansky. It’s Polish, I think.” He smiled, and looked up at Mystique.</p><p>“In school, that will be useful. But at the Brotherhood house, and when alone with me or your future classmates, we will all go by codenames. When we win the war, we will not take our human names with us. We will be reborn, homo-superior, and our codenames will become our real names.”</p><p>“Toad forever, huh? Well, I guess I’m cool with it. So I’m the first student?”</p><p>“For our side, yes. Recruitment would come faster if we had a telepath on our side, but as it is, we rely on luck and cheating.”</p><p>“I could help ya. I see pretty good in the dark, n’ I could help ya look fer people n’ all.”</p><p>“I’ll keep the offer open.”</p><p>Todd then had to start hopping to keep up with this newfound ally, as she chose that moment to shape shift into a bird. She flew low, but obviously intended him to keep up. He shot a glance at the lights of the city, picking out the Brooklyn Bridge and the more distant Empire State Building easily. So much for finding little Poland again. He shrugged, hopping off down the street. If it didn’t work out with this Mystique, he’d just come back. It wasn’t like he was leaving the state. He could even come in for a visit if he wanted. Hit the graveyard, spit on his no-good pop’s grave. He grinned. Maybe doing things her way for a while would work out the better for him.</p><p>Finally deciding to not ditch her, he started whining in her direction. “Hey! Hey, wait up, yo! I gots some stuff ta do! Are ya at least gonna buy me dinner? Aw, come on! Wait!”</p><p>If birds could look annoyed, certainly Mystique could pull it off, but nonetheless, she flew a little more slowly. What had she gotten herself into?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Give the teens a car! Chase the Toad-man! Logan, we do love you, even if we're just using you for your nose!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott awoke gasping for the second time that night. Looking at his clock, he decided it would be impossible to get back to sleep, and silly anyhow; his alarm would go off in an hour, and it would take him that long to get back to sleep. He took a moment to damn Jack to a thousand hells, then decided it was a guarantee anyway, with how crooked he was, and stopped, taking a moment to switch his goggles for his sunglasses. While he was momentarily annoyed at the constant redness, he immediately shoved it aside, more grateful that he could see at all. He went to his window; the curtains were already open, and just stared into the sky, almost tempted to open the window and take the glasses off, staring into infinity…</p><p>Then, as usual, he quashed the thought. Planes, birds, unsuspecting helicopters, or well-placed levitating mutants. Anything could be up there, and he had no idea how strong his blast was once it went out that far. He wondered briefly why he never got headaches any more. He’d had them constantly, even with the blindfold, and now, for the past month or so, since he got the special sunglasses, nothing. No headache, and he could see to boot. He kept forgetting to ask the professor about it. He suspected it had something to do with the ruby quartz, but he wasn’t sure.</p><p>Since the sun wouldn’t wake up for another hour, Scott pulled on his sweatpants, and a pair of socks, since it was 5:30 in the morning, and the floors would be cold. He decided he was hungry. Or maybe he just wanted to wander about. Either way, he had the freedom to do as he wished in this house, and that was more than he’d ever had. Upon leaving his room, however, he heard sounds coming from Jean’s room. Thinking she might be having another nightmare, and pushing back the nightmare he himself had just had, he burst into the room, fingers on his glasses, ready for anything…</p><p>Except a curious-looking Jean, trying her damndest to push a stubborn bookshelf back into place. Completely lost, he stood there for a moment, looking at her. Jean, in turn, just looked confusedly back at him. He finally decided the moment needed words. “Um, Jean? What are you doing?”</p><p>“Hi, Scott. I’m, um, trying to put the bookshelf back…”</p><p>“But…why?”</p><p>“Um, could you maybe help me?”</p><p>Scott snapped out of his reverie, hurrying forward to help her push on the bookshelf. He was frankly amazed she’d kept it from falling on herself; it was so heavy, and she was so little. <em>Not little</em>, he amended, taking her height into account. Though shorter than him, she was taller than the average girl. But he could call her little if he wanted to.</p><p>When the bookshelf finally groaned into place, and Jean had started putting books back in it, he commenced looking at her oddly. “So…why are you doing this?”</p><p>“I’m trying to put <em>your</em> plan into action. I can’t stand another day at this mansion, trying to build walls around my brain. I’ve had enough of it, and if we can escape to school, so much the better. But I need to clean up a little more of this mess so that I can try to fool the professor.”</p><p>Scott blinked. Then he shook his head, and picked up the hint, as well as a randomly placed bookend. “Oh, so…um, where does this go?”</p><p>Between them, the two managed to find a place for everything, though Jean insisted a few things were missing, and then she shooed Scott out of the room while she tried to find something decent to wear. As he left, a certain curling iron he had become well-acquainted with decided to attack him, finding his foot from a place where it had been invisible under a dresser. He glared at it, hopping on one foot, and then left the room, dignity shattered. The curling iron, its job done, was then found by Jean, who tucked it away into a drawer.</p><p>Scott started getting ready himself, glad that he wouldn’t be wearing a repetition of the same outfit he’d had since the start of last year, when he’d been under Jack’s care. He remembered little things about the dream he’d had; it had been a horrible vision of Jack, yelling at Scott, telling him all the wrong things he’d done, and whatever Scott used to defend himself was twisted around. It had ended with Scott looking in a mirror…and seeing Jack’s face reflected, shouting at him, saying that they were just alike…</p><p>Scott banished the nightmare from his mind, and decided not to give it another second’s thought. He glanced out the window instead, sensing that sunrise was near. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did. He opened the window, sitting in the cold air, and closed his eyes, waiting for the warmth to find him. He found that even when he did have the option of seeing the sunrise; it didn’t have the same effect as watching the sunrise in Alaska. Too many buildings here, and too much smoke and who knew what else in the air. So, he just closed his eyes and waited for it that way.</p><hr/><p>It was this way that Jean found him, when she came looking a few minutes later. So utterly calm; and his very posture – even his mind – insisted upon this continued peace. She cleared her throat, expecting him to jump at her presence, and he surprised her. “Hi, Jean,” he said, as though he’d been completely aware of her the whole time.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t know you…you knew I was here,” she said. <em>Why am</em> I<em> getting embarrassed</em>? she thought, feeling her face grow somewhat red.</p><p>“I guess so long with not being able to see really did improve my other senses. If I’d been that way longer, it would be noticeable, but for now…I can usually tell when someone is behind me.”</p><p>“I…I guess that would do it,” Jean said lamely, feeling utterly stupid. Scott finally turned around, still emanating peaceful feelings, and Jean collected herself. “Can you see any more bruises? Or scratches?”</p><p>Scott came closer, actually touching her cheek. “Where’d this one go?” he said curiously. He seemed to realize what he was doing, and embarrassment permeated his shield of uncaring peace. Jean felt a little better, she realized. As long as he was being as lame as she was, there was hope that they would escape these awkward moments unscathed. As for now, she settled for answering casually.</p><p>“Behold the power of cover-up.”</p><p>“Oh,” he said, still recovering.</p><p>Jean grabbed his hand, smiling. “C’mon, let’s go to breakfast. I bet between Mr. Logan and Ms. Munroe, there’s something fabulous ready.”</p><p>Scott grinned, following her. “You know, he doesn’t like being called Mr. Logan. Just Logan works.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? Well Ms. Munroe told us to call her Ororo, and I don’t see you doing that.”</p><p>“You’re not doing it either.”</p><p>“I will when you will.”</p><p>“Fine. We’ll start calling…Ororo what she wants us to call her, and in return, you have to not call Logan <em>Mr</em>. Logan. Deal?”</p><p>“Deal,” Jean said, stopping as they shook hands. They continued, not linked with their hands anymore, but still close. “Why doesn’t Logan go by a last name? Does he have one?”</p><p>“He does, but he doesn’t know it. He told me he couldn’t remember a lot of his past.”</p><p>“The only thing I picked up from him when we first met was that there was more to him than met the eye,” Jean said thoughtfully, and Scott looked interested.</p><p>“Oh? And what was the first thing you picked up from me?”</p><p>Jean faintly recalled thinking he looked in good need of a shower, but she brought a magnificent lie to her lips. “I just thought you were quiet, and I wondered what you’d have to say.”</p><p>Scott looked smug, and Jean decided to fix that. “What was the fist thing you thought when you saw me?” she challenged, already knowing the answer.</p><p>He stalled. “Um, when you showed me yourself with the mind-thing, or after I got my glasses?”</p><p>“After. When you really saw me, not just the mental image I had of myself.”</p><p>“Um, I was wondering why you were wet.”</p><p>“Uh-huh. I don’t believe that for a second, Scott Summers.”</p><p>Jean flounced off, leaving Scott gaping like a goldfish, and she started loading a plate of sausage. She grinned, and then looked around inquisitively, wondering where everyone else was. She looked at her watch, wondering if they were early…but no, it was almost time to leave for school. Someone should be here to give them a ride…</p><p>“Hey, Jean, check this out,” Scott said, indicating a note on the refrigerator.</p><p>“Scott and Jean,” Jean read aloud, “Gone to the city for the day for a new recruit and a reunion with some old friends. Red convertible in the garage, and a set of keys on the hook by the door, Scott will find some personal effects in the glove box, have a good day at school, signed Logan.”</p><p>Jean looked up at him, and he looked worried. “We’re driving?”</p><p>Jean didn’t know why he wasn’t more excited. “Um, Scott, we just got off free, without having to hide anything from the Professor, and Logan left you a car. What’s not good about this?”</p><p>“I’ve never driven before,” he muttered, looking at the note intently.</p><p>“You…haven’t?” Jean asked incredulously. <em>She’d</em> even driven. Granted, she’d done so illegally, with her sister, but she <em>had</em> driven. She was supposed to get her permit in a few months.</p><p>“No one ever wanted me at the wheel,” he muttered again, carefully not looking at her. “I had headaches, and I had to go a few days sometimes with a blindfold on. I convinced everyone it was a thing of light…that my eyes were sensitive to it, but I never got to drive…”</p><p>“Um… do you want to try?” Jean asked, unsure of how to proceed.</p><p>“I…I dunno,” he admitted. He looked at her, and Jean’s eyes widened. “You’ve driven, right?”</p><p>“Um, yeah,” she said, not sure what he was getting at.</p><p>“But you’re not sixteen yet?”</p><p>“Um, technically, I’m not fifteen yet,” she said sheepishly.</p><p>“So the solution is either you drive and don’t get caught, or I drive and get us killed,” he groaned.</p><p>“I think there’s another option,” Jean said, smiling a little. “We can employ a skill I’ve been working on, that will transfer my knowledge into your brain. It’s not ethical, technically speaking, it would keep you from learning the thing yourself, but we’re already keeping this much from the Professor, right? What’s a little more? I have this technique down. If you don’t think it’s enough knowledge, we’ll walk or something.”</p><p>Scott hesitated. “You sure you won’t blow up my brain?”</p><p>“I’ve already learned from…from Ororo how to plant certain kind of trees native to China, and I’ve taught Logan how to play Für Elise. I promise you, I have this down.”</p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He paused, and Jean was sure he’d say no, but then he answered. “Okay. Do it.”</p><p>Jean smiled, and put her hands on his temples. “It works better if I’m touching you,” she murmured, trying valiantly not to notice the flush that swept his skin. She closed her eyes, concentrating, forgetting how stubborn his brain was. He seemed to remember too, and she sensed it was a little easier for her, as he tried to let his shields down slightly – he claimed he didn’t build them consciously? She’d kill for subconscious shields that strong – she was finally able to transfer the information to him, limited as it was. Not only was this not ethical, she decided, upon finishing the task, but it was <em>hard</em>. It hurt like <em>hell</em> to be in his stubborn head, and she didn’t care to do it again any time soon.</p><p>Scott must’ve been somewhat surprised when she fainted dead away after she broke the link. <em>Whatever</em>, Jean thought incoherently before collapsing. <em>Stick a fork in me, I’m done</em>.</p><hr/><p><em>I hate being on special assignment</em>, Logan thought, sifting through the smells in the park. <em>Why do I always get the stinky ones, anyway?</em> He asked himself then, pausing and grimacing as he came across something unpleasant to his sharp nose. <em>Does he ever ask </em>‘Ro<em> to find the slimy mutants? No, somehow she gets the nice </em>pampered<em> ones who identify with her</em>. He finally caught a scent vaguely familiar to him. He grinned. Now he just had to follow the scent to find the location. And if he knew Mystique, he wouldn’t be surprised if she just led him straight back to Bayville. She liked to copy Charles, it seemed, because really, their goals were similar to a point. Protect known mutants from general humanity; get them in a house of safety, because if people knew mutants existed, all hell would break loose, to put it lightly. It was here that their goals for mutants differed, but to the point, protecting mutants required the same sorts of things.</p><p>She needed a location for said safe house, and she needed location and means to train said mutants. And if he knew Mystique, and he was pretty sure he did, she’d pick a place right near where Charles had picked his place, in spite of him, just because she wanted opportunity to show off to Xavier that her students were better than his. He snorted. Pathetic. Sighing, he started tracking the scent, and he wrinkled his nose. That unpleasant smell he’d found before was lined right up with hers. He groaned. He again cursed Charles in his mind, going on that ‘Ro never had to follow the stink-trail. He was going to need a nice beer after this.</p><hr/><p>Todd was very bored. He’d been waiting all day for Mystique to do errands or something, and he was hungry. He’d had his fill of the flies buzzing around the place, and he really just wanted to scarf some food down and find a nice jungle-gym or something. It was getting too cold for swimming, and he’d never been one for TV. Not active enough. He was just about to start trying to count the bumps on the ceiling again, and she came out.</p><p>“’Bout time, yo! I been growin’ a beard here!” he exclaimed, hopping out of the chair with a little too much enthusiasm. It broke under the pressure, and Mystique ended up staying <em>another</em> 20 minutes to offer paying for it. Upon actually leaving the building, clutching some official-looking papers, Mystique actually asked him what he wanted to eat.</p><p>“Man, I’d kill for some pizza or somethin.’ I ain’t had pizza that came in a box, or wasn’t cold, for 2 years. It would hit the spot, ya know?”</p><p>Mystique smiled thinly at him, and Todd could have sworn he heard her muttering under her breath something that sounded like “He’s only14.” She seemed to compose herself nicely, and proceeded to lead the way to the nearest pizza place.</p><p>“If ya don’t mind me sayin,’ whatcha been doin’ all day? Jus’ gettin' a bunch of papers?”</p><p>“These are more than ‘a bunch of papers,’ young man,” she chided, bopping him on the head with the lot of them, “This is a deed to the house, this is a copy of my college diploma, which I never actually got, but must have to be the principal of the school, these are your transference records, which I had to fudge over to even get you into freshman level, and these are the papers that make me your legal guardian, thus able to stay at my boarding house.” Mystique panted a bit, and had opened her mouth to rant some more, but the words seemed to die on her lips when she saw the interesting way Todd was looking at her.</p><p>“Ya mean…you’re my guardian now?” he asked, looking disbelieving.</p><p>“Yes, by technicality,” Mystique said, sounding bored with the whole thing.</p><p>“No more child whatever screwups on my back?”</p><p>“No, unless they think they can mess with me,” Mystique said, smiling wickedly.</p><p>“I’m free, yo! This calls for pizza!”</p><p>Luckily, they had arrived at their destination, and Mystique handed the money to Todd, who took it eagerly and went to order his pizza.</p><p>Upon getting back to the table she’d selected, listening to her rant about how dirty the place was, and after she’d wrestled the change from his very pockets, the pizza had come, and so they sat to a lovely hot meal…at least, Todd assumed they did. It seemed that not everyone was a fan of the supreme pizza with extra anchovies and spinach.</p><p>She instead, pushed her slice away, saying she wasn’t hungry, and Todd shrugged. “Wha’evah, yo. Moe foe mee,” he said in between chews. She started asking him again how old he was (Foakeen, yo, *chew, swallow*), and what grade he’d just been in at his old school (I gunno. *swallow* I think they called me a fresh-man, whatever that is), and how he’d done at the end-of-year exams (It ain’t the end of year yet, Mystique! Even <em>I</em> know that!).</p><p>She was clenching her fist rather hard by now, and Todd just shrugged it off, grabbing another slice of pizza. “Damn, Mystique, this stuff’s good when it ain’t cold, yo!”</p><p>“Toad, do you know what I’ve had to do?”</p><p>“All I know is you’ll hafta buy yerself another pizza, ‘cause this one’s gone,” he said, swallowing the last slice.</p><p>“Toad, you’re officially enrolled in Bayville High as a freshman! If you’ve already taken the freshman course, why wouldn’t they let me move your records?”</p><p>“Oh that? I guess they thought since I didn’t go to school I didn’t know nothin.’ I remember once they threatened to hold me back if I didn’t hand some stuff in, ya know? But I knew they didn’t want me in that place any longer’n I’d have to be.”</p><p>“Toad, they <em>did</em> hold you back! You didn’t take the placement tests, and you didn’t do anything resembling effort in your last school! I had to tweak your records until it looked like you had gotten a scholarship here!”</p><p>“Oh,” Todd said, comprehension still not dawning on him, “Good work, yo!”</p><p>“Toad, just…” Mystique seemed to finally sense that he wouldn’t understand. “…just go buy yourself another pizza,” she said, giving up, and handing him a twenty.</p><p>“Cool, yo! I’ll get extra garlic powder an’ no anchovies this time. I think you’ll like it, Mystique,” he said, smiling and snatching up the twenty, remembering just in time that it wouldn’t be wise to hop the distance to the register.</p><p>Had he turned around, he would have seen Mystique banging her head on the table.</p><hr/><p>To say Scott was freaked out would be an understatement. He shook his head, and went to the task of waking Jean up. She seemed pretty well zonked, and he just hoped she wasn’t comatose or something. <em>Where’s the professor when you need him?</em>  Scott thought furiously, all but picking the girl up in his efforts to wake her. As if sensing his worry, he felt a ghost of a psychic whisper in his head, like Jean was telling him she was all right. He calmed down a little, and decided if she was unconscious, she might as well be comfortable.</p><p>Since it was the only rational thought he’d had yet, he listened to it, pulling her into a sitting position and trying to lift her up. He was surprised at how easily he managed it, first at how light she actually was, considering her height, and second, at how strong his arms were. Had they always been that strong? Had he had it in him all along to fight back? Pushing the thoughts aside, he got to his feet, teetering slightly with the added weight, and walking into the professor’s study, which was the nearest place he could think of that had a couch.</p><p>Almost as soon as he laid her on it, she stirred, and he almost felt too foolish to bear it. <em>All that effort and she’s gonna wake up now!? </em>He thought irrationally, but she didn’t wake up just yet. He sat beside the couch, determined to stay with her until she <em>did</em> wake up. It was his fault for making her like this, anyway. He felt the whisper in his head again. Jean? Denying that it was his fault?</p><p>“Jean,” he said aloud, though she didn’t stir, “It <em>was</em> my fault, and I’m sorry.”</p><p>The whisper again. She was arguing with him.</p><p>“Look Jean, it’s nice of you and all, but you said yourself I have really strong mental shields…if I had lowered them more, you’d probably be fine.”</p><p>The whisper was a little more like a buzz.</p><p>Scott brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Jean if that’s you, that noise is really getting annoying.”</p><p>He heard a groan, and saw Jean stir. “If you’d stop trying to blame yourself for everything, I wouldn’t argue with you,” she growled softly, opening her eyes and clutching her head. “God, my head hurts.”</p><p>“Jean?”</p><p>“Listen, you stubborn jackass, if I say it’s not your fault, then it’s not!”</p><p>“But it was! And you never said it wasn’t my –”</p><p>“I’m the one who suggested the whole thing in the first place, and we could have just walked if we’d ignored my suggestion.”</p><p>“But –”</p><p>Jean interrupted him, sitting up. “And, I really don’t want to argue with you about it, because I thought I broke the connection before I passed out, but I didn’t and spending ten minutes in your head really hurts.”</p><p>“I’m…sorry?”</p><p>“Stop apologizing! And who’s Jack?”</p><p>Scott paled. “Wh…what?”</p><p>“Big guy? Prominent in your mind for some reason? He was shouting at me the whole time, too. I think he’s the reason it’s so hard for me to stay in your head,” she went on, not seeing Scott’s reaction.</p><p>“And if he was shouting at me the whole time, I can only imagine how much he shouts at you, and I don’t blame you if you say you had headaches as a kid.”</p><p>Jean finally took a deep breath, and looked over at Scott, who was looking determinedly at his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap. “Scott?”</p><p>He didn’t hear her; he was staring so hard at his hands. She knew about Jack. Granted, she’d told him about her friend Annie, and it had been a big deal for her, he knew, but…it was Jack. No one should know about Jack. <em>He</em> didn’t even want to know about Jack.</p><p>“Scott, I’m…I’m sorry if I intruded where you didn’t want me,” Jean said, and she sounded so mortified at the thought of invading his privacy, that he snapped out of it.</p><p>“Jean?”</p><p>She looked at him, looking for the world like she didn’t want to.</p><p>Scott took a breath. “Jack…was my foster-father. He found me on the streets…I ran away from the orphanage, and he said he wouldn’t turn me in. He even knew about my powers, and he didn’t turn me out.” Scott was speaking almost monotonously, concentrating on his hands, knowing that Jean was listening to every word.</p><p>“He…he used my p-powers for himself…he…he m-made me destroy things…and he’d…he’d hit me when I didn’t.” Scott was almost drawing blood; he was clenching his fists so tight. He laughed hollowly. “He’d hit me when I did too.”</p><p>Jean opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Scott finally looked at her, though it took a lot of strength.</p><p>“I thought it was only fair you knew…” he said, looking away again after a moment. “Since you told me about your friend…Annie.”</p><p>“Scott, I’m really sorry,” Jean said finally, getting down from the couch to sit on the floor with him. “I know we’re friends Scott, but everyone’s entitled to privacy, and I know that it’s really important for you to keep stuff private. I’m just sorry I keep butting into your brain.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Scott said listlessly. He felt her hands on his cheeks, and she turned him to look at her. Her face was bright red, but she had tears in her eyes.</p><p>“I should try harder to control my telepathy. I know you don’t trust people easily. I could work harder on my mental exercises, but I just write it off, saying that your mind is strong enough to block me out. But if I’m sharing nightmares with you then I’m not working hard enough on my blocks. And it <em>is</em> my fault. Do <em>not</em> try to blame yourself for this. You blame yourself enough.”</p><p>Scott couldn’t help it; he smiled. “Thanks, Jean,” he said softly, letting her just hug him. They both needed the contact.</p><p>When the professor and Ororo finally got back, from the wild goose chase Cerebro had sent them on, they were wrapped up in discussion, not noticing the conspicuously open study door; and when Logan found the pair sleeping in the professor’s study, he just cocked an eyebrow at it, and then dismissed it. He’d let them get their sleep, and keep their little secrets. Tomorrow he’d just send them into Danger Room simulation 4; Not too hard, and one of his personal favorites, besides.</p><p>Unseen, Logan grinned and chuckled, closing the door and letting the mentally and physically exhausted youths sleep on. They’d be mortified enough when they woke up anyway.</p><hr/><p>End of Part 3</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>X-men shenanigans and smarty-pants Scott and 'Funny Thought' which is actually the invented game of joanofarc15 whose work I read a lot at the time of writing this. They're over on ff.net, and their stuff is great. Give it a gander.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott rested his chin in his hand boredly. It had come to him that he was starting down the same path he’d been on at his old school; the path of no homework and abundant tardiness and detention. He shuddered at the thought. After meeting the frightening principal, he didn’t want to go through a possible detention with her.</p><p>The fact was that he was actually bored with some of his classes. Without realizing it, he was very good at math. He could do the assignments in class after the lecture, and probably start and finish the next chapter’s work as well, if he really wanted to. Something about this Geometry business was just very easy for him. He could look at an angle and know by a glance where to bisect it, what degree the angle was, and how to refract it perfectly…and his classmates looked on in jealousy as he never once used the protractor.</p><p>It made for more envy, and less friendly looks, but Scott didn’t let it bother him. Just walking down the hall and seeing Jean wave and smile was enough for him. He was almost embarrassed at how much he liked her, and he hadn’t even known her that long.</p><p>He realized he’d been very comfortable with her, ever since they had both come clean and were honest with each other. It had started that day with him trying to drive the car. After that, at seemingly random places in conversation, something serious would be brought up, and both would discuss it plainly, not interrupting each other and not casting judgement; offering sympathy when needed.</p><p>He finally knew the whole story of her friend Annie. She had died in a most horrible way, a hit-and-run automobile accident, and Jean had essentially delved into her mind as she died. She’d experienced Annie’s life, and she almost thought she had died herself when Annie’s mind slipped away. To experience something so powerful and huge when you were twelve years old must have been hard. Since her power had been triggered as a result of a trauma, Jean didn’t know its potential.</p><p>Scott had finally, in return, told her about his brother. The plane crash and what his life had been like up until now. To have opened up to her like that was a big step, and she seemed to know it. She had squeezed his hand and hugged him really hard after he’d told her. She’d <em>thanked</em> him. He’d just smiled goofily when she’d kissed his cheek. Yeah, he had it bad. He knew she probably knew it too, with the thoughts she must have picked up from him, but she never cruelly rejected him, or even acknowledged that she heard any such thoughts. It almost made him wonder…</p><p>He snapped to attention as the Geometry teacher picked him out and asked him a question from the chapter. After he answered it right away, without even cracking the book open, she seemed disappointed, but nodded curtly at him, asking him to be sure to stay awake, and she continued the lecture. After receiving the obligatory glares from his classmates, he just went back to staring into space. When would it end? He’d been all horrified at the thought of going to a regular school again, worried at how he’d hold up, with more things to hide now than he’d had before, but it seemed that either the Principal, Ms. Darkholme, didn’t like to ask questions, or the professor had more pull with the school board than he’d thought.</p><p>All his report read was that he was a sophomore; he’d finish the semester with everyone else, not before, not after, and that he sustained a condition that made his eyes sensitive to light. The students looked at him funny; Jean admitted that she picked up thoughts from them that he was kind of weird for never taking the sunglasses off, but past that, no one pushed the weak story.</p><p>Jean had smiled, taunting him about a girl in her class who thought he was cute, asking him if he wanted to know what she’d thought. Just another moment he shared with her, feeling happy as they just acted like teenagers together. Despite the weird games they invented, they were just regular kids together. His favorite game was the famous ‘Dub-over,’ where at assemblies, or lunch, they’d silently pick out a random person, and secretly discuss their version of what the person was really saying. It got ridiculous sometimes. Especially the escapade with his English teacher, and his animated discussion with a student concerning the hairpiece he apparently wore.</p><p>Jean always suggested ‘Funny thought,’ a delightfully wicked game of her own inventing that was particularly fun to play when in small, enclosed spaces, like elevators or in the lunch line. Jean would give him a look, and send a picture to Scott’s mind of someone they knew wearing a tutu, or breaking into the can-can. It was usually funny to imagine the adults doing this, and even funnier when Jean had cheated, sending him an image of Logan in a grass skirt, resulting in Scott laughing milk from his nose, and definite giggles whenever they passed Logan in the hallway. Scott in return would picture something he thought funnier and make Jean read his mind. First to laugh aloud lost.</p><p>All in all, life was great. It had taken a definite turn for the better, and he hadn’t been plagued with nightmares – his <em>or</em> Jean’s – for the better part of 3 months. Jean’s birthday came and went, and the small celebration was complete with cake and presents, though mutants giving presents got creative. Logan insisted he didn’t know the first thing about kids, and ended up presenting her with a certificate that excused her from a week’s worth of Danger Room Sessions. The professor got her a nice sweater that looked like it had cost a fortune, and Ororo had given her a harness, of all things.</p><p>Jean just got a mystifying chuckle when she asked what she could use it for, and she’d shrugged and turned to Scott. He hadn’t known quite what to get her, and he ended up settling on a large teddy bear. She’d looked at it in confusion at first, and had relayed it through a look, and Scott had smiled mysteriously.  Jean had held back an evil grin, and Scott felt her enter his mind; she fully intended to wrench an explanation from him, but before she could get to it, he just mentally explained the motive behind the gift. It was big and squishy, and if she ever did have a nightmare and he didn’t come to rescue her from her attacking appliances, the bear would. She gave him another odd look as she broke the link, but then took a better look at the bear. It was wearing a giant pair of plush sunglasses. She’d smiled then, announcing aloud that she demanded cake, and Scott had smiled too. She understood that he didn’t want a big display of emotion over it, and he was glad for that.</p><p>Snapping to the present once more, Scott managed to stand and walk out with the rest of his peers as the bell rang for the end of class. Scanning the hallways immediately, he brightened when he saw Jean, and when she spotted him, she smiled, and made straight for him. They chatted, and Jean whined about how dull it was to sit through the lectures when she could use her telepathy if she wanted and skip the class. After reading anything once, it stayed in her memory bank, and after attending the class for more than five minutes, Jean said she had already picked up the extra things that would be on the test from the teacher’s mind.</p><p>“I mean, we have these powers, right, we should use them to better ourselves!” She exclaimed then, knowing it wasn’t an ethical thing to do, but wanting to whine out of necessity.</p><p>Scott just smiled. “Try telling that to the professor.”</p><p>“Oh, Mr. Big Shot, thinks he’s so cool,” Jean teased. “When really all he’s doing is imagining his geometry teacher in a –”</p><p>“Please, God, no,” Scott interrupted her, trying half-heartedly to concentrate on anything. The Gettysburg address, the alphabetical order of the United States, old nursery rhymes, all of which were somewhere in his mind, but Jean forced in the horrible image of his teacher in a polka-dotted bikini.</p><hr/><p>Passersby would note that Scott Summers had turned bright red for no apparent reason, and that Jean Grey seemed to find it hilarious. Todd Tolansky just cocked his head at them and made his way to the computer lab. His next class was English, but he hardly cared. He’d already had the classes he could tolerate, namely Lunch, dumb-dude math, and gym. He just had to stay at the school. No one had said anything about going to his <em>assigned</em> classes.</p><p>“Mystique an’ her rules,” he mumbled, resisting the strong urge to just up and crawl along the walls through the crowds. He had to resist a lot of urges like that. Living on the streets had just made him accept his mutation. Embrace it, even. Sure, when he was little it sucked to have rocks thrown at him, but he’d always felt that he should just be who he was. If he was a toad, then there was probably a reason for it, so instead of moaning about his mutation, or his hunched back, he should just learn to deal. And he had.</p><p>He found it odd, therefore, that when Mystique had said something about their lowly Homo-sapien names being eradicated in lieu of their homo-superior names, he’d felt a pang of regret. It was connected, he supposed, to the place he stayed at in Brooklyn. The people who were so kind to him there. He didn’t even know most of their names and he couldn’t pronounce the handful he did know, but he had like the feeling of being accepted, even when they knew he was a mutant. He suspected a few in their number were mutants themselves.</p><p>He liked finally being able to classify them as something other than ‘the freaky people like me.’ One point to Mystique, who’d introduced the name they were supposed to be calling themselves. (namely, <em>mutant</em>, not <em>freaks of nature</em>) He reached the class, much slower than he would have if he’d used his powers, and slumped into a seat in the back. He powered the machine in front of it, glad that even with his webbed fingers he could still type on the keyboard.</p><p>Without meaning to, his mind drifted to his life before he’d had the bright spot in Brooklyn to turn to. Some good things, like his mother. She’d always smiled at him, and always said she was his treasure. He’d lived with her, in their crummy apartment in East Jersey, and she sang him songs and showed him flowers. Then there was his no good Pop. God, he hated him. Todd, sitting in the class he wasn’t supposed to be in, outwardly scowled at the very thought of that man.</p><p>The memories he had of his father were all bad ones. Todd remembered the terrible smell he perpetually had…that of stale beer and cheap perfume that didn’t match his mother’s scent at all. He remembered fights his parents had; usually ending in his mother huddled on the floor with some new injury or other that she would explain away to anyone who asked.</p><p>Todd remembered coming home to a silent house some days, afraid, and then relieved when he found one parent or the other, though the relief was substantially higher if he found his mother instead of the alternative. Then one day he’d come home to that silent house, and his worst fears had been realized. His Pop was lying on the ground in a haze of either blood-loss or high alcohol level, clutching the bloodied knife in his hands…and only a few feet away, there lay his mother, unmoving and cold.</p><p>Todd couldn’t remember much else after that. He knew he’d been found covered in almost as much blood as his dead parents, and that his father had been assuredly dead when the police had arrived, but other things had been blocked from his own mind, and he preferred it that way. He had been pushed from place to place since then, through different cities, bridges, rivers, and counties, only to end up in the care of a blue woman who wanted him to fight for some army or other. At least he got his way paid for him.</p><p>Todd barely registered the annoyed tone of the teacher who kicked him out of the lab; just one more person who didn’t want him in their presence. Not caring, he shuffled out of the room, and hopped to the nearest window. Suddenly he didn’t care for rules and regulations or any cause Mystique had hauled him in for; he didn’t care that as well as his caretaker, she was his principal. He had a strong desire to see Brooklyn. So he did.</p><hr/><p>Logan was sitting in the window seat of the kitchen, content with his paper and his coffee, though he’d <em>wanted</em> a good stiff drink. (Denied by Charles who insisted he not bring alcohol into the school where impressionable young minds resided…or somesuch bull like that.) He popped a solitary claw, slicing the crossword puzzle free from the rest of the paper. ‘Ro liked to do ‘em, and he didn’t want it going to waste.</p><p>Glancing at the scrap of paper, Logan noted again why he didn’t do crosswords. He’d be damned if he even knew what half the <em>clues</em> meant, let alone if he’d tried his hand at <em>solving</em> them. He grunted, looking again at the paper, groaning when he realized that he had sliced a chunk out of an article he’d wanted to read. He held the crossword-scrap in place and tried to salvage the story, but it was useless. He’d have to buy another paper.</p><p>Muttering in frustration, he set the paper aside and got up from the windowseat, going for the refrigerator, helping himself to a soda. He poked a hole in the top and downed it all in one go. It wasn’t that he couldn’t open the soda can, he just liked to use his claws instead. He grinned, belching loudly and tossing the can into the garbage.</p><p>He then glanced at his watch and sighed, downing the rest of the coffee, knowing the kids would be home soon and that he had to ready the Danger Room for their after-school session. He grinned again, chucking the paper, but leaving the crossword on the breakfast table; Today was sim. 7. Another favorite of his.</p><p>He chuckled darkly upon hearing the door open and close, and the shrieks that accompanied that door. He would have them trained up and ready to fight in no time.</p><hr/><p>Jean used all the strength at her mind’s disposal, dodging tentacles and trying to shout warnings to Scott, whose visor had been knocked off. She heard Logan shouting at Scott too, telling him where to turn his head to save Jean from the advancing tools of death. She scowled in what she thought was Logan’s direction. She knew Scott wouldn’t do it. He’d risk hitting her.</p><p>“C’mon, Slim! Are you gonna let the sawblades have their way with her?”</p><p>Scott looked uncertain, and Jean located his visor. Just as he tentatively looked where Logan was shouting, Jean floated his visor to his hand. He jammed it over his head, wasting no time in blasting an unseen tentacle just before it reached Jean. She turned to the sparking remains in surprise, and then smiled at Scott.</p><p>As the session ended, and the surviving mechanics pulled away neatly into the walls and floor, Logan walked up, smirking. “Not bad, you two. You can cover for each other very well, but ya have trouble rememberin’ to call each other by <em>codenames</em>. You figure yours out, Jeannie?”</p><p>Jean flushed, looking at her hands. “Um, no.”</p><p>They had been wracking their brains to come up with these ‘code names,’ and Jean was no closer to figuring hers out. Scott, it seemed, had picked his.</p><p>“Cyclops?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scott said defensively. “What? You don’t like it? <em>Wolverine</em>?”</p><p>“It ain’t that I don’t like it, but…why Cyclops?”</p><p>“Cyclops is misunderstood.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Jean rolled her eyes. Scott launched into his tale. He’d told the same story to Jean when she’d scoffed too. It was just a different way of looking at the Cyclops legend in Greek mythology. Or was it Roman mythology?</p><p>“The Cyclopes were like the titans; creatures who were said to be greater than the gods,” Scott started, either not noticing or not caring when Logan rolled his eyes. “They were giants, who worked to make Zeus’ thunderbolts for him in repayment for releasing them from the prison Chronos put them in. They were a helping hand to the gods, making weapons that killed the Titans. They made Poseidon’s trident, Apollo’s bow, and Hades’ helmet of invisibility. Then Apollo killed them in revenge for his son being killed by Zeus’ thunderbolts.”</p><p>Logan said nothing, and Jean just smirked at him. Scott smirked too. “Sometimes you have to know the background of someone before you can judge them too harshly.”</p><p>“All right, kid, you can be Cyclops. Far be it fer me to stop ya. You putta lotta thought in this, didn’t ya?”</p><p>Scott nodded, smiling. Logan smiled too, then turned to Jean. “You’d better come up with a good one, Red. Can’t let ol’ Cyclops upstage ya.”</p><p>Jean flushed again, and nodded. Logan slipped into his smirk.</p><p>“All right then, class dismissed. Bright an’ early tomorrow we’re hittin’ sim. 34. Not one of my favorites, but it’s a good test of teamwork, even when yer a team of two. Until we get more recruits in here, you’d better get used to it.”</p><p>Scott and Jean groaned good-naturedly and retreated to their consecutive locker rooms, Jean doing an odd hula step that made Scott go red. She giggled when he refused to look at Logan when the man passed them.</p><hr/><p>Upon entering the locker room, it was the routine cool down from the strenuous exercise Scott had just undergone, making sure to not actually sit down and change until his heart rate had dropped to a more regular rhythm. Then a shower to make sure he didn’t smell like sweat and metal, then on went the running shoes, for a nice jog. He didn’t usually care where, and he didn’t pace himself. He just ran hard enough to get his heart pumping, but not so hard as to sweat profusely or work himself out all over again. All in all, it was to clear his head and relax. He’d finally found a recreational thing he enjoyed doing, (Billiards) and Professor Xavier had promised the imminent delivery of his own Billiard table, but it hadn’t arrived yet. So he jogged.</p><p>Scott had to say that his current state of being wasn’t the best shape he’d been in. Granted, it was the healthiest he’d ever been. But he’d been in much better shape with the paranoia he’d lived with for so long. His reflexes had slacked, his speed and motivation had diminished lightly with each day he spent getting used to his life as it was now. And he didn’t want anything to change. He was surprised at how much he could actually eat when he didn’t have to shovel in as much as he could as fast as he could. He didn’t eat as much as he thought he did, and eating regularly had helped with the stomach pains he’d sometimes had.</p><p>He still hadn’t asked about the mysterious disappearing headaches; why they had stopped now, instead of his month as a blind street-urchin. He thought about that too, making sure he didn’t run too fast as he rounded the far corner of the mansion. He kept his eyes on his feet, trying not to make himself dizzy. He let random thoughts creep into his mind for the moment, each having to do with the scenery, or the fact that he really needed a new pair of running shoes. He was afraid to ask the Professor, after he had been so generous in giving him the entire wardrobe he had now.</p><p>He wondered about the new student that had enrolled recently. He wouldn’t have even noticed the small youth, but he happened to share a gym class with him. Todd Tolenby? Tolky? Tolensky! That was it. He was about Scott’s age, but in the lower grade. He’d probably been held back. He had an amazing aptitude for basketball, but his hygiene didn’t make him a favorite pick, talent or not.</p><p>Scott had told Logan about him, and earned a grunt and a sneer. He decided to let it go, deciding that the Professor was handling what needed to be done. Jean had mentioned that she thought she had seen him in her computer class, but hadn’t seen him later, and thought he may have been kicked out. She frowned whenever Todd came up in a conversation, making comments that he was really very nice, and that they should give him a chance. Scott just thought he needed a bar of soap.</p><p>Scott looped around the grounds a few times, and made his way steadily to the house, looking on in interest as Ororo set up some kind of tightrope near the roof of the building. As he saw the rock-climbing gear, he grinned wickedly, remembering the harness Jean had received for her birthday. Ororo was in charge of some of Jean’s one-on-one lessons, and the Professor was in charge of the others. Scott had the Professor and Logan. It was less tightropes, more headaches and survival training. The Professor was instructing him on general control of his beams, testing the level of destruction based on how much of the beam was allowed to escape his eyes, and by the large hole he was slowly making in the yard. It would soon be deep enough to start work on a swimming pool.</p><p>He wished sometimes that he had Jean’s lessons, but decided that having that level of power would be too frightening. He didn’t know how much power she even had, but suspected, due to the damage her room took when she had a nightmare, that she was a <em>lot</em> stronger than she thought she was. While he had the potential to punch a hole through a mountain, she had the potential to destroy the universe. That was power.</p><p>Then she’d smile at him, and he’d forget that she was possibly the strongest mutant on the planet, and just think of her as Jean. He thought it would be a shame when she finally thought of a code name, because it would give her power a code name. He might not be able to separate the Jean he knew from the Jean he partially feared.</p><p><em>Maybe she won’t think of one</em>, he thought hopefully, holding back a laugh at the look on Jean’s face as she came out the door, staring at the sheer height of the tightrope.</p><p>Scott headed inside as Jean gripped her harness in fright, looking in disbelief at the airborne weather-witch fiddling with the rock-climbing equipment and tossing a helmet at her. He peeled off his shoes, padding up the staircase and chuckling to himself as he neared his room. He didn’t even blink when he saw Ororo through the second-story window, pulling some kind of cord and shouting something encouraging to her pupil below.</p><p>He didn’t blink when the lights shuddered slightly, figuring it was either Ororo’s or Jean’s power interfering, or it was that giant computer the Professor had. He slid into his room, dropping off his jacket and his shoes, opting for his t-shirt and jeans. The weather was getting colder, and he’d soon be trading his t-shirts for warmer sweaters, but as it was, the Professor kept the mansion at a comfortable temperature, and until it got colder, he’d be fine in his current attire.</p><p>Making his way back down the stairs, Scott proceeded to examine the refrigerator, repositioning the shades on his nose, pulling out a jar of strawberry jelly. Or it may have been raspberry…He really wasn’t sure, since the jar was unmarked and he couldn’t discern the color properly, but as long as it wasn’t grape, he was fine. He opened the cupboard, pulling out the bread. He purposely left the cupboard open, knowing it bugged Jean.</p><p>He spread two pieces with the indiscernible jelly, not surprised at the loud bang that echoed through the kitchen as Jean stomped into the house. She stormed into the kitchen, slamming the cupboard door shut with her telekinesis and flopping into the chair next to Scott. He wordlessly offered her one of the pieces of jelly-sweetened bread, and she took it.</p><p>“How on earth am I supposed to do this! I can’t lift myself! I’ve tried before! It’s like asking me to lift a crane for all she cares.”</p><p>“Like a construction crane? To lift stuff?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I just doubt you’re that heavy, that’s all.”</p><p>Jean choked on her bread, glaring at Scott. “I don’t like your insinuation, buster. Don’t you like grape?” She pointed at the bread that Scott still hadn’t touched. He grimaced and pushed it towards her, trying to ignore his protesting stomach. “I bet you’re stronger than you think you are.”</p><p>“Hm,” Jean said disinterestedly, “that’s what the Professor says, but I’m not sure I believe him. Hey, how did you come up with your code name, anyway? I can’t think of anything, and I’ve wracked my brain.”</p><p>“The way I see it, you have a few choices.”</p><p>“Which are?”</p><p>“Well, there’s the classic ‘Spider Woman.’”</p><p>“True, I could go with that, but I don’t have spider powers.”</p><p>“This may present a problem.”</p><p>“Not to mention I’d be sued for copyright law violation for the name alone.”</p><p>“Okay. Option 2? Go without a code name; the Professor doesn’t have one, I don’t see why you need one.”</p><p>“Logan wouldn’t go for it.”</p><p>“Well, that brings us to option 3. Wait until we get new recruits, then Logan will be so busy bugging them for codenames, he’ll forget about you.”</p><p>“You’re not making this any easier on me. You just can’t think of one either, can you?”</p><p>“I’ve got it. Poseidon.”</p><p>“I’d just be copying you; and isn’t he a sea-god?”</p><p>“You said to think of a name. You weren’t specific.”</p><p>“I’ve gotta go. I promised ‘Ro a 5 minute break, no more,” Jean said, pulling her harness back on, and retrieving her helmet telekinetically from the counter. She turned back, poking Scott in the nose. “Think of a name that I could <em>use</em>, that Logan and I would approve of, got it?”</p><p>“Oh, I know a name that suits you perfectly.”</p><p>“Really? What?”</p><p>“You ready? Here it is: Jean Grey.”</p><p>Jean smacked his shoulder, jogging outside, where the sky looked threatening. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”</p><p>Scot just grinned, heading for the cupboard and pulling out a nice safe jar of peanut butter.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Awright, we were getting bored, anyway. Todd and Kurt need more love right now. And I &gt;think&lt; I got most of the Bad(TM) German? I can legit speak German, now, which I couldn't when writing this. I think I fixed it, mostly. But...meh?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Todd suffered through Mystique’s long-winded rant about the consequences of ditching school in favor of frivolity, he wondered what was up with Xavier’s kids. They seemed to stick out to him, and the girl, Jean, was always trying to be nice to him. The other guy, Ron? Sean? Something like that, anyway; he was just indifferent to him, not being horrible, just not overly friendly. He had stuck up for him once in the gym class they shared. Todd was always picked last in their current unit, basketball, and Sean had protested it, saying that he was better than anyone, and that should be taken into account. Todd put his fingers to his head. No, it wasn’t Sean. Was it Ron? John?</p><p>“Toad? Are you even listening to me?”</p><p>Todd looked up. “Sure thing. I heard every word, yo. Lemme ask ya somethin.’”</p><p>Mystique took in a loud hiss of breath, composing herself. “Yes, Toad? What is it?”</p><p>“That kid Xavier has at his school. The guy with the smokies. What’s his name?”</p><p>“Scott Summers?”</p><p>“Scott! Man, I was thinkin’ it was John or somethin.”</p><p>Mystique’s expression changed. She smirked wickedly at Toad, all annoyance forgotten. “Why was he on your mind, Toad? Is he your friend?”</p><p>“Naw, He’s just in my gym class. I couldn’t remember his name.”</p><p>“What do you think about him, Toad?”</p><p>“He’s cool, I guess. I think he’s kinda weird, y’know? Why doesn’t he take those shades off?”</p><p>“Why indeed…Toad, what about Xavier’s other student? Jean Grey? What’s your opinion on her?”</p><p>Todd rolled his eyes. “Perfect and Popular. I’ve met a million girls just like her, yo. She’s just a pretty face. She’s nice to me n’ all, but…”</p><p>“What would you say if I told you that Xavier’s School for gifted youngsters is really a mutant safehouse, just like the boarding house you live at with me?”</p><p>“Git outta town, yo! Damn! That would explain a lot of stuff! So are they, like, the other mutants you was tellin’ me ‘bout? When we was comin’ up here?”</p><p>Mystique just nodded, gears clicking in her brain. Todd was none the wiser for this contemplative look his guardian had just taken on; he was busy thinking of all the things that made sense since Scott and Jean were mutants. Why Scott didn’t take the shades off, why Jean seemed to know what he was thinking sometimes…</p><p>“Toad, I want you to keep acting as you have been; I don’t want you to acknowledge that you know of their powers yet. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing, acting as you’ve been acting, and when the time comes to act on it, I’ll let you know.”</p><p>“Sure, Mystique. I could do that,” Todd said, nodding.</p><p>“Good. Now I’m going to excuse your absences for today, but please try to at least get marked present before skipping class, all right?”</p><p>“Cool. I’m gonna go an’ find a jungle gym or somethin.’ I gotta make sure my legs are strong, right?”</p><p>Mystique just waved him off, turning her attention to a stack of papers she had to look over. She hated being the principal sometimes.</p><p>Todd found one better than a jungle gym: an abandoned lot, filled with nothing but tractors, cranes, and bits of concrete and metal. Perfect.</p><p>The boy grinned, tightening his sneakers and starting the workout. Todd liked acrobats. He liked the idea that a person could sail through the air, high off the ground, and by dexterity and timing, fail to fall. That’s what he did. He had an inner clock that told him just when to curl into a summersault or reach out for a pole or a well-placed crane.</p><p>As he leapt from platform to platform, swinging from bits of metal and chords on the cranes, Todd couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face. <em>Powers or not, this is cool</em>, he thought. <em>Who needs wings when you can fly just as high without them?</em> After he had exhausted his body, Todd reluctantly began his journey home, shaky from the exertion, but still pleased. Without thinking he cut through the High School, where the sprinklers were pelting the lawn and sidewalk mercilessly. He walked through the length of the lawn, not caring that he was now drenched from head to foot.</p><p>It was a fitting pickmeup from the crappy day he’d had thus far. Better than sinking to his no good Pop’s level; man drowned his sorrows in liquor, not caring for the repercussion it had on his wife and his son. Stepping at last into the Brotherhood Boarding house, ignoring the shrieks of protest from Mystique about him dripping slime and dirt all over the carpet, Todd smiled. It was a good town, Bayville. Weird freaky mutants and school aside, it was a good place. He decided then, that he might not have to make his journey to Brooklyn again for a long time.</p><hr/><p>Charles Xavier sat contentedly at Cerebro’s platform. After a lengthy show of mutant activity in the poorer section of town, it had calmed, with no casualties. The source was the lad Todd Tolansky, simply using his powers for his own amusement in an abandoned construction lot. Charles sensed that the boy wasn’t at all what he seemed to be. Jean had been saying as much since she’d met him, and the man found himself proud of his new pupil, and glad that she’d been right.</p><p>Ready to turn in for the night, and consequently make rounds to ensure that his charges and colleagues were inclined to do so as well, Charles was slightly miffed at the detection alert Cerebro sent forth. He wheeled around, powering the screen and watching the process as the computer tracked the location of the mutant signature.</p><p>After hesitating, the tracker started moving east. Charles wondered excitedly if it was the same signature that had been lost when he’d discovered Mr. Tolansky and Mystique, wondering why on earth it had been so long since the mutant had used their powers. It had been months! Charles alerted Logan, since he knew Ororo had requested a week to visit her sister in the city.</p><p>
  <em>Logan, if you’ll please come to Cerebro, It’s detecting a new mutant.</em>
</p><p><em>Detecting mutant signature</em>…Cerebro droned for the third time. Charles was pleased to see that the tracking icon had finally slowed at the bottom of Germany.</p><p><em>Identity confirmed. Kurt Wagner. Age 14. Location: Eichstätt, Bavaria, Germany. This is the fourth occurance of mutant activity in this area</em>.</p><p>As Logan walked into the room, his eyes widened at the full-body rotation that was Kurt Wagner. He whistled softly. “Woah, Chuck. I’d say this kid’s definitely a mutant.”</p><p>Charles had to agree. “I believe that this boy not only carries the mutant gene…he’s a second generation mutant.”</p><p>The boy in question, Kurt Wagner, was quite a sight to behold. He was skinny, and the height displayed was about Jean’s current height, but it had a question mark next to it. As well as having blue hair on his head, he also had blue fur that coated the rest of his body, which included a tail, elongated two-toed feet, and three-fingered hands. He stood with a hunched posture, which made sense when you considered his tail, and his eyes…were they glowing?</p><p>“We may have to go in person to recruit this one, Logan.”</p><p>“I can see that.”</p><p>“And we’ll have to work out a way for him to attend classes at the high school…I would venture to guess he’s lived a rather sheltered life.”</p><p>“I can definitely see that.”</p><p>“Prepare the jet.”</p><p>“We’re goin’ now? It’s already dark!”</p><p>“If we take into consideration the time it will take to get there, and find the boy, as well as the fact that they are 6 hours ahead of us…”</p><p>“Right. I’ll get the jet ready, you talk to the kids.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Logan left the room, as did Charles, though not before placing a call and leaving a message on the machine.</p><p>“Hello, this is Charles Xavier. I was wondering if you could put the technology of your hologram into a more compact device…say, a necklace, or a watch. If you could please return my call, we’ll talk prices and the realm of possibility.”</p><hr/><p>Kurt Wagner winced as he sat down to breakfast, earning a sympathetic look from his mother. He’d sustained injuries a few months ago, and while they’d healed, they were still tender sometimes. His feet were the worst; he couldn’t wear shoes, and so the burn scars on his soles were especially hard to walk on.</p><p>“Warst du draußen wieder, Sohn?”+</p><p>Kurt jumped as his father clapped him on the back. He nodded, accepting a pot from his mother to put on the table. Of course, they weren’t his <em>real</em> parents. He had been found floating by in the river where the Wagners were fishing. They’d saved him from probable death, and hadn’t been scared away by his appearance. <em>More than I can say for the people who made the scars on my feet</em>, Kurt found himself thinking, frowning and snapping out of his negativity as his father continued his mainly one-sided conversation with his son.</p><p>“Hast du dann schon wieder dein Trick geübt?“ He said this last with a smirk that Kurt returned.</p><p>“Ja,” Kurt murmured, smiling a little. He loved his foster parents. He loved that they had taken him in and raised him as their own when they could have just let him drift on by them. He loved that he didn’t have to hide his appearance when he was around them. They loved every furry inch of him, just the way he was, and he never had to keep secrets from them.</p><p>“Du und dein Trick! Verschwinden! Lieber Englisch lernen, Kurt,”=+ his mother joined then, scooping some sausages onto her plate.</p><p>Kurt made a face at the sausages, not saying anything to his mother’s chastising. <em>Verschwinden</em>. Disappear. They were referring to the newfound skill Kurt had developed. If he concentrated, he could disappear from one place and reappear in another. It was a much more worthwhile hobby than practicing his <em>Englisch</em>.</p><p>“I know that you don’t practice, Kurtie,” his mother continued, smirking at the confused look that crossed her son’s face.</p><p>“…<em>Was</em>?”</p><p>“Aha!” Kurt’s mother crowed, tapping his head with her spoon. Before she could scold him, there was a sudden knock at the door. All teasing atmosphere left the room as Kurt’s eyes widened. He scooped up his plate with practiced ease, making his mother gasp in surprise when he simply vanished from sight with the food. All that remained was foul-smelling smoke and the knowledge that he’d been there not 2 seconds ago.</p><p>Kurt hadn’t gone far. Just around the corner into the shadows of the staircase. He quietly set his food on the floor next to him and peeked around the corner into the room where his parents still sat. He’d have to listen, because he couldn’t keep his eyes open when he was in shadow; while his dark fur camouflaged him effectively, his eyes glowed brightly in shadowed places, and would give him away. He heard footsteps advancing slowly to the door; his father’s. He wanted to open his eyes, but he had to settle for just listening for the unexpected visitor’s voice.</p><p>He heard horribly mispronounced German; the man was foreign. If Kurt had sorted through the butchered request correctly, he wished to come inside. He heard the door open wider, and a strange humming sound. There was a pause before the door closed, a faint smell of tobacco, and then heavy footsteps on the floor as the door finally closed.</p><p>He heard a different voice; there must have been two visitors, though Kurt had only heard one set of footsteps. He said something in English. Kurt cursed himself for the first time for not practicing like his Mutti had told him to. He heard his mother say something back, and his father’s distinct “<em>nein</em>.” They must have been discussing whether they could speak English. Erik Wagner couldn’t pronounce a word in the strange tongue if his life depended on it.</p><p>He heard the first visitor’s voice speak in English, and unless he was mistaken, his name was mentioned. Kurt listened hard for any words he knew. His mother replied something, and his name was mentioned again. Newark? Something about Newark.</p><p>Finally his mother had to translate for his father. “—<em>der Herr möchtet mit Kurtie sprechen</em>,” she hissed. Kurt knew his parents could see him; they’d lived with him and his tricks for fourteen years. Why did these foreigners want to speak to him?</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>,” Erik murmured. “<em>Kurt? Komm mal rein bitte</em>,” he said firmly.</p><p>Kurt froze. They wanted him to come? He trusted his parents, so slowly, he blinked. The foreigners were a stocky man who almost looked like the bodyguard of the other man, who was in a wheelchair. That explained the hum. And the lack of the second pair of footsteps. The stocky man next to the cripple raised his eyebrows. So he had known Kurt’s location? Or had he suspected?</p><p>The crippled man smiled. He said a phrase in English slowly. Kurt found himself understanding a bit. He’d…asked Kurt if he understood English. The boy slowly nodded. “Ja…<em>wenig</em>….A little.”</p><p>The man nodded like he approved. He said something else, far quicker, and with more words. Kurt shook his head, making a face of confusion. His mother tutted at him, and translated. “<em>Er kann kein Deutsch, Kurtie</em>,”o+ she explained.</p><p>Kurt nodded. This was obvious. And he’d rather the man not try to butcher the language again.</p><p>For some reason, as soon as Kurt thought that, the man smiled at him.  His eyes widened as a voice came into his head. It wasn’t specific German phrases, but it didn’t sound like the little English Kurt knew. It was like no language he’d heard before. Was this man thinking into his head?</p><p><em>Kurt, I would like to invite you to join a school with me. A school I run in America; in New York. I know you have some abilities that make you unique…my companion and I have these abilities too</em>.</p><p>Kurt looked skeptically at the crippled man. Was he secretly blue and furry?</p><p>The man laughed aloud, and Kurt was again disconcerted. <em>You…can read my thoughts?</em> He thought tentatively, eyes widening as the reply was made in the affirmative in his head.</p><p><em>Yes, Kurt. Just as you can disappear? We would like to offer you the chance to hone your abilites; be a part of a team</em>.</p><p>Kurt let a grin split his face. “<em>Mutti! Papa! Dieser Mann möchtet, dass ich in seiner Schule in Amerika gehe!</em>”+o+ he said then, looking excitedly at his parents. They glanced at each other, worried.</p><p>“What about the vay he looks?” his mother said in English, making Kurt’s forehead wrinkle.</p><p>“<em>Was</em>?” he insisted, looking at his mother, and at the crippled man as if they were sharing a joke about him.</p><p><em>Your mother just expressed concern given your looks, and I was just about to tell her that I am a very wealthy man, and can provide an effective way to shield your looks from those who might not appreciate them</em>.</p><p>Kurt turned to his mother, about to try and put the long thought into words, but she was looking in fear at the crippled man, and Kurt realized that she’d heard the voice that time too.</p><p><em>Will Kurt have schooling? Obtain a degree from an American school?</em> Kurt’s father thought.</p><p><em>What about his English? He doesn’t know very much. He may need to study</em>, Kurt’s mother mused worriedly.</p><p><em>Yes, on both counts. If you wish, I could impart much of the knowledge through thought, but it may impair his future knowledge, not to mention that it wouldn’t be entirely ethical</em>.</p><p>Kurt’s parents jumped, as if they hadn’t realized their thoughts had been heard.</p><p><em>I realize this is a big decision to make, and that you may want some time to think on it, but I must say any questions must be voiced now, because I cannot speak German very well on the telephone. It’s worse than when I try to speak it in person, if you can imagine</em>.</p><p>Kurt chuckled lightly, muffling the sound immediately. He saw only good things to the decision. All he’d cared about was the fact that he was blue and fuzzy. If this man could take care of that, then he’d be set.</p><p>“I think ve may have to discuss this, <em>Herr</em>…” Kurt’s mother trailed off, realizing they’d never completely gotten this man’s name.</p><p><em>My name is Charles Xavier, </em>Frau Wagner<em>, and I assure you won’t feel undue pressure from me. I will give you a phone number to call when you’ve made your decision, one way or the other</em>.</p><p><em>What of my son? You aren’t from an American circus, are you?</em> This thought came from Kurt’s father, who struggled to follow his wife’s speech as much as Kurt did.</p><p>
  <em>I assure you, my interest in your son is purely concern for his well-being and a desire to help him.</em>
</p><p>Kurt’s father nodded, and Kurt saw the man wheel away through the door that his silent companion held open.</p><hr/><p>As smart as Charles claimed to be, as a telepath, Logan couldn’t figure the logic he had sometimes. Here they’d been driving all night for God knew how many time zones, suffering from jetlag and general fatigue, only to tell the people to sleep on it. They couldn’t have just called to do that?</p><p>Logan hadn’t understood a lot of it, either. Granted, he’d thought it was pretty cool when their kid appeared; he’d thought something was standing in the shadows, thought he’d caught a scent, but he hadn’t really been sure. Now a natural chameleon he could appreciate, teleportation aside.</p><p>When he got back in the jet, he started it without argument, though his thoughts must have been loud and clear.</p><p>“We obviously couldn’t bring him with us, Logan, he doesn’t have the language down, and we need to be sure we’re prepared with enrollment, passports, and a cloaking device so he can enroll in the High School. I’m certain they’ll decide to let Kurt come. He’ll be a valuable asset, won’t he?”</p><p>Logan could tell that most of Chuck’s assessments were rhetorical, so he didn’t answer, but it didn’t stop him from thinking longingly of his bed at home. He could go for some shut eye. He realized that it would still be hours before bedtime by the time they arrived in New York.</p><p>“I wonder whether or not I’ve gotten a call back from those hologram-inducer people who helped design the Danger room…” Charles mused meanwhile.</p><p>Logan knew he didn’t require an answer or an insight, but decided to offer some anyway; “I dunno, a portable hologram producer? How big would it have to be? He’d have to carry it with him all the time without arousing suspicion.”</p><p>Charles said nothing, and Logan muttered under his breath. He couldn’t wait to get to his bed, he didn’t care what time it was, damn it. Anyone who tried to pry him from his rest would get skewered.</p><hr/><p>Scott decided he really didn’t like certain aspects of his new life. While he was all right with the fact that he was trusted a helluva lot more than he used to be, he was not quite as all right with the fact that though his new mentor, Xavier, was supposed to be a telepath, he liked to leave in random intervals to some remote corner of the globe for recruitment, often leaving him very short, if any, notice at all.</p><p>Immediately upon sensing the jet gone, Jean had deemed it time to party, getting out all the music she owned and putting a different CD in every room in the manor. Scott, with his meager (growing) collection, couldn’t compete with it, but he could deny her access to his room, where he blasted his own preferences without abandon.</p><p>After they had calmed down from the initial excitement, they’d realized that they had school in the morning, and dejectedly went around the rooms, collecting Jean’s collection. Try as they might, they couldn’t find the last CD, and Jean said it was bound to turn up, and retreated to her room. Scott, unable to sleep, sat awake, trying to find tasks to busy himself with. He hated nighttime. He found himself padding down the stairs and turning on the lights.</p><p>In his mind, Scott knew that lights were nowhere near the light and heat he wanted, but it did help a little. He drank a tall glass of milk, hoping it would make him sleepy, and then went back to his room, leaving the lights on, and slipping into an uneasy sleep.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>He dreamed of Jack. More specifically, the events that led him to Jack. There was sporadic darkness, being a blind beggar for a while, never hitting the same street twice during the times that he couldn’t see. He felt pleased that he’d procured some treasure or other, and then someone had started asking questions. Scott spoken to them, albeit rudely, and he sensed something wasn’t right. The man had asked for his name. Scott had given it, and the guy had paused. Then he repeated Scott’s name, like he’d heard it before. Scott was up and running before the guy even got up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was a cop. The guy called for backup, telling the units his position as Scott ran from him. Scott hadn’t memorized this neighborhood yet, and not knowing the layout he ran into every obstacle that came his way. He pushed people aside, he knocked over trashcans, and he ran smack into one of the cop cars. The guys were on him like a flash, his hands pinned behind him, ducking his head into the car and talking to their radios. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scott just waited for his headache to stop. When it did, he slowly slipped his thin wrists from the confining handcuffs and pulled the tape from his eyes. From there, he waited until the police came and opened his door, then he banged the door into the first man and ran like hell. In the alley behind the police station, Scott suddenly had a mad desire to jump the fence and head for the alley four streets over. He didn’t question it, just did it, and quickly. Then he met Jack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When Scott ran into the alleyway in question, he saw the man huddled in the corner, covered by a blanket and looking for all the world like a bum. Scott almost turned around, but his appearance had spiked Jack’s interest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Whatcha runnin’ from, kid?” he asked, looking at the skinny adolescent. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Cops,” Scott said bluntly, spinning and imagining they were surrounding him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hoo boy. What didja do ta the cops, kid?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I existed,” Scott muttered, with an added “Damn it,” when he felt his heart pounding in his ears. If that kept up, it might give him a headache, and if he got a headache, he might get his unique brand of eye problem that usually accompanied a headache. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“How old are ya anyway, kid?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scott just looked in annoyance at the bum who asked too many questions, and curtly answered him, bringing his fingers to his head and shutting his eyes. “Thirteen.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Huh. Ya look older n’ thirteen, kid.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fourteen then.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Come on, kid, why so hostile?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“My head hurts.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scott turned his face to look at the man, keeping his eyes closed, just in case. “Trust me, it’s bad.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Uh-huh. So are you thirteen or fourteen?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What does it matter?!” Scott snapped, eyes open just a bit. Out surged the power, knocking three planks off the fence before he got them closed. “Shit,” he said loudly, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wishing he hadn’t thrown that tape away. He felt the planks of the fence, finding the hole and feeling how big it was. “Thirteen,” he added, thinking he was speaking to the air, because people usually ran upon seeing his eye-blasters.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Huh. Ya don’t look it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scott nearly had a heart attack. “What are you doing there?” he asked stupidly, facing the general direction he’d heard the voice coming from.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I was here a minnit ago, kid. Unless you forgot already,” the man laughed, like he found it funny.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You…you didn’t run?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Naw. I do figure ya need some help, tho.’ Am I right?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Um…yeah. Yeah, I do.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, come with me. I gotta place the cops never find me. We’ll both hide out there. Deal?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You…you don’t care about my, uh…my eyes?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scott heard the man pause, and when he spoke again, it was in a happier tone, though it was a much harder voice than he’d yet heard the man speak in. “I think it was destiny that brought ya to me, kid. You an’ me? I think we’ll work out jus’ peachy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scott nodded, slowly, then quicker, smiling as he felt the man tying some material from the blanket around his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quickly, following this man to his new life. Little did he know the Living Hell he’d just volunteered for.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Deep conversations afoot! Toad is hilarious. Why didn't canon utilize him more? Mystique may or may not be drunk. We don't judge, here. Kurt! You go! You learn that English! (I am living proof that you CAN learn a foreign language in a 'crash course' of a few months. Took me 9 weeks. And then a 'refinement' period while I immersed myself.) (AKA I lived in Germany for a year and a half. That'll help you learn German.) (To be fair, English might be harder to learn than German? Not sure on that score.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jean Grey sat up, disoriented. She remembered her sister telling her about a trick once, and she was grateful for it now. It was called ‘1-2-3 wake up.’ Whenever she felt trapped in a nightmare, she just repeated that to herself and woke up. It helped when she had not only her own nightmares, but the nightmares of others to contend with.</p><p> It made for quite a headache though...she rubbed her head, waking up a little more. She looked at the clock – it was only 3:00 in the morning. She faintly remembered the fleeting thought the professor had planted in her head that he and Logan probably wouldn’t return until the following day. Probably while she and Scott were in school. She wondered then why she'd intercepted the nightmare in the first place...She hadn't shared dreams with Scott in 3 months.</p><p>She glanced at her door, and was surprised to see it open. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the door hadn't clicked into the frame because the plates were crooked. She actually faintly remembered asking Logan to fix it. Her eyes widened, realizing Scott might still be stuck in that dream. She rubbed her eyes, hopping to her feet and quietly slipping into the hallway, cautiously entering Scott’s room when she reached the door. She thought at first he was fine. He had a pair of goggles strapped firmly around his head, and the blankets weren’t even mussed.</p><p>He looked like he was sleeping peacefully, and had Jean not been telekinetic, she would have dismissed it and gone back to bed. But as it was, it physically hurt her head to be in the room because of the thick psychic tension. Unsure of how to go about it, Jean tried waking Scott up. She shook him, saying his name louder and louder, but he was very deeply asleep. She touched her fingertips to his forehead, in an attempt to establish a link to his mind, but couldn’t get much further than his mental shield, still in place, even as he slept.</p><p>She pulled back from him, scowling, and shook him again. “Scott, c’mon, wake up!” Her whining tone turned into a gasp as his hand abruptly caught her wrist in a death grip and he sat straight up, silent as a ghost.</p><p>He seemed disoriented and confused, and at Jean’s urging, he finally noticed and released her hand. She saw the outline of his fingers still, and she pumped her hand to get the blood flowing.</p><p>“Jean? Why are you here?” he asked, running his fingers over his goggles, securing them unnecessarily, like he’d been afraid they’d fallen off.</p><p>Jean shook her hand, smiling at him. “I’m a psychic, remember?”</p><p>Scott didn’t say anything for a minute, watching Jean’s hand, and then he looked up, “Did you –”</p><p>Jean nodded, immediately starting to apologize and explain about the door, but Scott just shook his head.</p><p> “It’s fine.” He grinned flatly then, running his hands through his hair. Jean wordlessly sat on the mattress across from him, still shaking her hand a little, before she was satisfied that it indeed had not fallen off, and ceased.</p><p>“Do you still remember it?” Jean asked abruptly, at the same time Scott said, “Is your wrist all right?”</p><p>Each youth was desperate for something to fill the silence, though Jean was anxious to get rid of the tense feelings coming off of Scott in waves. Both answered the affirmative at the same time.</p><p>“You…you weren’t stuttering,” Jean said cautiously, not sure if they should just launch into things.</p><p>“No, I wasn’t,” Scott agreed, twisting his fingers in his hands.</p><p>Jean opened her mouth, but Scott beat her to the punch. “I don’t get how I didn’t see it. Looking back, knowing what kind of a person Jack really was…I don’t get how I could have possibly thought that my life was going to get better.”</p><p>“You don’t give up,” Jean suggested. “You look for the best in people, and if you don’t find it, you don’t stop trying to look.”</p><p>“That’s what the Professor said,” Scott muttered.</p><p>“It’s true. You really believe in what the professor is doing. You believe that the world is a good place, in general, and that its people are worth educating.”</p><p>“You sound like a textbook,” Scott muttered again.</p><p>Jean opened her mouth to retort most rudely, but she saw the half smile on his mouth. He was just teasing her.</p><p>“Jean?” Scott asked cautiously.</p><p>“Hm?” came her tired reply.</p><p>“Why do you think I don’t get headaches any more?”</p><p>“Less stress,” Jean said lazily, yawning.</p><p>“I’m serious. Why don’t I have them any more?”</p><p>Jean pondered. “Maybe…it’s the glasses,” she tried.</p><p>“These?” Scott pointed to the goggles in confusion.</p><p>“No, just in general, the ruby quartz. If you could describe your power, what would you say?”</p><p>“Um, I’m like a walking bazooka?”</p><p>“Try again. Pretend I’m the Professor.”</p><p>“It’s like…” Scott’s hands were making wild gestures in the air, around and over his head.</p><p>“Could you be more specific?” Jean asked wryly.</p><p>“Just…power. It builds up here,” Scott pointed to the bridge of his nose, “And I release it through my eyes.”</p><p>“Very good, Mr. Summers,” Jean said, grinning as Scott shook his head. “And what happens when you shut your eyes, or otherwise stop this power from exiting your eyes?”</p><p>“Just that, the power stops. But the beams won’t hurt me.”</p><p>“You’re not getting it. How is the ruby quartz different from shutting your eyes?”</p><p>“The…the quartz stops the beams too...”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“I don’t get how you’ve answered my question.”</p><p>“Maybe when you shut your eyes, you’re turning off your power…but since the power is still there when you open your eyes, can’t we assume that the power just sits and waits behind your eyes?”</p><p>“I guess so…”</p><p>“Did you ever think that maybe the ruby quartz isn’t just stopping the power? Wouldn’t your eyes just blast the glasses away?”</p><p>“You’ve lost me.”</p><p>“Maybe your beams are being absorbed.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Think about it. Your eyes are only stopped by you. You said the beams couldn’t hurt you.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Then why don’t you destroy the ruby quartz each time you open your eyes?”</p><p>“I…I don’t know.”</p><p>“It’s because I think the quartz is absorbing your beams. Not blocking them.”</p><p>“…”</p><p>“And since the power is just being channeled into the glasses, not biding behind your eyeballs, there’s not the pressure there that would eventually turn into a headache. You see?”</p><p>“…”</p><p>“Say something.”</p><p>“…Wow. I didn’t put that much thought into it before.”</p><p>“Well, I have spent an unusual amount of time in the professor’s head. Maybe I’m picking up this pattern of thinking from him.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“Well, now that I’ve ruined all chances of you going to sleep again with this new thought to entertain you, what say we try to sleep, huh?”</p><p>“Are you kidding?” Scott put his hand up to his eyes, holding them closed as he removed the goggles and blindly fumbled about for the sunglasses. Jean helped his groping fingers, telekinetically passing them to his reach.</p><p>“Scott, I don’t know why you’re ready to greet the world, it’s only…” Jean glanced at his clock, which was blinking midnight. “Never mind, I don’t know what time it is, but it’s so late it’s early.”</p><p>“I would wake up in an hour or so anyway. Can’t sleep longer. I like the sun. Do you know how much sense that makes? If someone had actually bothered to find something useful for my eyebeams when I was younger and went to all those optometrists, I would probably be completely different.”</p><p>“You wake up at 4:00 every morning?”</p><p>“4:30, not 4:00, but that’s beside the point. I would probably still live with Mrs. Schaffer. Well, maybe not. I didn’t like her very much. She smelled funny.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know, Jean, you don’t just ask someone why they smell funny –”</p><p>“No, I mean why do you wake up at 4:30 in the morning?”</p><p>“I told you. I like the sun. I used to watch it rise every morning, when I lived in Alaska. Here you can’t do that, so I just feel it out with my eyes closed. Maybe I would live with the Saffords. No, I would have called that quits after they bought that dog.”</p><p>“Why on earth would you wake up to watch the sun rise?”</p><p>“Why not? It’s a daily miracle, Jean. What if you woke up one day, and the sun hadn’t risen, huh? Come to think of it, besides all the dumb stuff about my headaches, I called quits on some of those families because of their own flaws, so maybe I would have ended up with Jack.”</p><p>“I don’t see your obsession with it.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t see <em>your</em> obsession with it, Jean. I watch the sun rise. So? I’ve done it since I was maybe thirteen, so it’s normal for me. Move on. Maybe if I’d been able to see with the ruby quartz when I ran away from that orphanage, I wouldn’t have been caught. Maybe the professor would have found me with his computer. No, when did he perfect that computer?”</p><p>“You don’t have to get snitty with me, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, I’m just tired.”</p><p>“I know, you should go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up later if you want.”</p><p>“So you’re just kicking me out? No. You need sleep too.” Jean thrust the goggles into his hands, and he took them obediently, but didn’t move to put them on.</p><p>“Seriously Jean, I’d be up in an hour anyway.”</p><p>“How do you function like a normal human being?”</p><p>“Maybe I get the extra energy from my eye beams, huh? All the energy that isn’t absorbed by the ruby quartz instead flows back into my body, and lets me function on minimal sleep.”</p><p>“Stop thinking, and go to sleep,” Jean said, shaking his wrist, which was still holding the goggles.</p><p>“I’m anything but tired Jean.”</p><p>“Want me to fix that?” Jean threatened, pushing his goggles into his chest.</p><p>“Fine, fine. I don’t believe you’d really do it, you know. Ethics, and the like? You’d feel guilty.”</p><p>“It’s too early to feel anything but tired, buster. Put ‘em on.”</p><p>Scott carefully slipped the goggles over his head, adjusting them over his eyes. Jean, satisfied, got up at last. “I’ll see you in the morning. No Danger Room sim, unless you want one, so wake me up at about 7:00.”</p><p>“Will do.”</p><p>“<em>Sleep</em>, Summers.”</p><p>“Won’t make any promises.”</p><p>Jean made a face at him, seriously tempted to ‘suggest’ to him that he was tired, but decided against it. It really wasn’t ethical, and if it didn’t seem to affect him, far be it for her to stop him from sitting up thinking.</p><p>Reaching her room, Jean closed the door best she could, and reached blindly into the bureau by her door for something to act as a weight to keep it from opening again. She’d ask Logan to fix it after school tomorrow.</p><p>She grinned as the door was wedged shut, and crawled into her bed, neglecting her alarm clock, opting to turn it onto its face to block the glare of the digital numbers. She pushed aside all thought, and drifted quickly into slumber, hoping that her dreams would be her own.</p><hr/><p>Todd sneezed. He hadn’t been feeling well since that morning, and the abrupt sneeze really didn’t surprise him, but it did appear to surprise Mystique.</p><p>“Toad, desist,” she muttered, catching the coffee cup she’d nearly dropped in surprise.</p><p>“Do I hafta goadda school? I don’t feel gud,”</p><p>“It’s halfway through April, you imbecile,” Mystique said, rubbing at her head. “Of course you don’t feel well.”</p><p>“Doad you feel okay Mysdeek?”</p><p>“No, now that you mention it. But I used up my sick leave tracking you down in Brooklyn.”</p><p>“Aw man. Dat meads I gots ta go too.”</p><p>“Suck it up, Toad,” Mystique snapped, bringing both her hands to her head. “I’d kill for drugs.”</p><p>“Drugs isn’t gud for you, Mysdeek,” Todd muttered, bringing her coffee cup to his own lips.</p><p>“Why are you drinking my coffee, you ingrate?” Mystique growled, snatching the mug from his grasp.</p><p>“Id clears by dose,” Todd insisted.</p><p>“It didn’t clear your nose, it’s all in your head,” Mystique argued, wincing at her cup and pushing it to Todd anyway.</p><p>Todd downed the coffee, making a face. “That’s awful! Don’t you have any sugar?”</p><p>“I don’t like sugar.”</p><p>“Bleahch,” Todd stuck out his green tongue.</p><p>“If you’re quite done stealing my coffee and insulting my taste, shall we be going?” Mystique said sardonically, standing up and reaching for her keys on the table.</p><p>“I get why I don’t feel good, yo, but why don’t you feel good?” Todd asked, hopping clear over the car to get into the passenger’s seat.</p><p>“How did your nose clear up?”</p><p>“It was the coffee, I told you.”</p><p>“It’s not your business why I don’t feel well, is it Toad?”</p><p>“S’pose not, but at least I got an excuse, right? Runnin’ through the sprinklers an’ not dryin’ off ‘ll do that to a guy.”</p><p>“Hush your incessant noise, Toad.”</p><p>“Didja hit the spirits too hard? That what this is? If you gotta hangover, you just need to say so, Mystique,” Todd continued, ignoring her blunt command for him to stop talking.</p><p>“I do not have a hangover, Toad,” Mystique grumbled, starting the car.</p><p>“Aw, ya don’t hafta be ashamed, Mystique,” Todd insisted, completely missing the way her hands tightened on the steering wheel, “I won’t say nuthin if ya don’t want me to.”</p><p>Mystique, her head throbbing, exercised all her willpower in not killing him.</p><hr/><p>Kurt was concentrating very hard. Harder than he had yet, considering what he was concentrating on. His father was overseeing him, making sure he stayed on task, and he was on hand to make sure Kurt’s tail didn’t knock anything over. Kurt was in a zone, the likes of which his parents had never seen. He was surrounded by books, dictionaries, notebooks, and a tape player that constantly blared out random phrases in both German and English.</p><p>Kurt was studying very hard to learn the English language. After nearly an hour, he had already memorized a whole slew of possible conversations one might start, and he had only to work on writing out the English phrases without slipping into the odd ‘ß’ when he needed instead a "ss." At this point in time, his mother came forward and smiled at him, handing him the phone. They only had one phone, and it was an old phone with a long cord, but it functioned properly, and it was perfect for the Wagner household.</p><p>Kurt smiled uncertainly as his mother handed him a single sheet of paper. His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he was connected to the number he’d dialed. He hurriedly grasped for his notebooks, flipping frantically to find some phrases.</p><p>"Hello?” came a voice then, that Kurt recognized. He paused, and then grinned.</p><p>“Hallo, <em>Herr</em>…ah…vhat is vord…”</p><p>“Who is this?”</p><p>“Professor Xavier?”</p><p>“No, this is Logan. -Chuck, someone fer you-”</p><p>The phone was transferred before Kurt had time to look up what even the 2 unknown words the man had said were. He panicked, his tail wrestling free of his father’s grasp. His mother put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He took a breath, trying to concentrate.</p><p>“Hello? With whom am I speaking?”</p><p>Kurt’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. He had only understood two words in this whole phrase, and decided to try anyway.</p><p>“Hallo, Professor?”</p><p>“Yes…”</p><p>“Ve spoke at a before time of New York?”</p><p>“Mr. Wagner? Kurt? Is this you?”</p><p>“Ja! Ach! Ah…Yes. Yes, Professor.”</p><p>“Hello, lad! How are you doing?”</p><p>Kurt excitedly turned back a page in his notebook. He knew this phrase! “I am doing vell, and you?”</p><p>“Fine, fine. Your English sounds spectacular!”</p><p>Kurt flipped frantically through his notes again. “Ah…zat eez…<em>was</em>? <em>Nein</em>! N…no! I…”</p><p>“Kurt, what did you want to tell me?”</p><p>Kurt found part of the phrase by chance and seized at it. “I vanted to speak vis you.”</p><p>“Well, you’re speaking with me, lad. What do you wish to say?”</p><p>Kurt found what he’d put together and hoped his message would get across. “I vanted to speak about your offer for school of present children.”</p><p>“Present children?”</p><p>“I vill vork hard to learn your language, <em>Herr</em>…Sir Professor, as you can get me to zere.”</p><p>“You…you will come to my school?”</p><p>“My <em>Mutter</em> and V<em>ater</em> haff yes…um…zey said yes, <em>Herr</em>…Sir Professor.”</p><p>“What splendid news! And you called me yourself to tell me?”</p><p>“I vill vork hard, Sir Professor.”</p><p>“I believe you will, Son. Could you permit me to speak with your mother?”</p><p>Kurt looked desperately through his papers, not seeing any of the words. He just hadn’t learned them.</p><p>“Kurt? Do you understand?”</p><p>“Understand?”</p><p>“<em>Mutter</em>, Kurt.”</p><p>“Mutter? Ah! -<em>Mutti, Herr Professor </em><em>möchte mit dir sprechen</em>.-”</p><p>Kurt handed the phone to his mother, feeling pleased. He’d held a conversation entirely in English. He wasn’t really sure if it had made sense, but that’s what he was learning for, right? He eagerly went once more to his studies, turning on his tape player and translating phrases as fast as he could.</p><hr/><p>Logan landed the jet, taking the care to ensure that it was positioned correctly in the garage, else he’d have to back it out when he took it out next, and Charles was still buzzing with rhetorical questions and comments, refreshed from his recent conversation with Kurt and his mother. Logan just nodded where appropriate, and locked up the area, thinking longingly of his bed.</p><p>“Think of it, my friend. A little over a year ago I was working for university funding, developing Cerebro to into the marvelous machine it is today, and teaching History and Ethics classes to students just Ororo’s age. Now, I’m recruiting students from everywhere! Alaska, Logan! Bavaria! Next could be New Guinea, or Japan!”</p><p>“Sure, Chuck, whatever you say,” Logan muttered, grinning as they entered the house. He didn’t care if it was already 12:00 in the afternoon. He wanted to get to sleep if he could help it. He headed towards his room, Charles' voice getting fainter as he continued to address rhetoric statements to himself.</p><p><em>Man, Chuck, you can read minds and you still rely on your own brain for conversation. That's just weird</em>. He thought sardonically, pulling the door to Jean's room closed as he passed it. He heard a creak behind him, and his eyes widened. He whirled about, claws popped, ready to deal some serious damage...and came nose to nose with Jean's door. As if to prove its uselessness, it opened an inch further, bopping Logan on the nose. He grinned, pushing it closed and watching as it swung open again. The plates were crooked. He retracted all of his claws but one, using that one to punch a hole through the metal and wood. The plate, no longer crooked, was held in place by the hole, where the metal of the doorplate was forcibly bent into it.</p><p>Whistling, Logan continued down the hall to his room, chuckling as he picked up Charles' voice on the lower level, rising with excitement. <em>Still goin' at it, huh</em>? he mused, taking care to shut his door. Just as he had lowered himself to his bed and all but dropped off, his door burst open, and there sat Charles.</p><p>“There you are! Been looking everywhere for you. I was just saying that we should have Cerebro scan the upper United States to Canada, possibly Alberta, or even Greenland, just to check.”</p><p>“Chuck,” Logan growled through his teeth, shielding his eyes from the light pouring into the room from the hall, “Do ya really need me to do that?”</p><p>“Of course not, but I just thought you'd be excited, Logan. Don't you want to recruit more students?”</p><p>“Sure, Chuck, but I hafta sleep first.”</p><p>“Of course, of course. Healthy minds, Healthy bodies, right? You sleep, Logan, I'll call Ororo and have her make lunch for us.” Charles wheeled away, still exclaiming about how wonderful it was. Getting up and shutting the door, Logan wondered whether they should tell Scott and Jean there was going to be a new student.</p><p><em>Naw. It's only April and that kid won't be shipped out here till September</em>, Logan thought tiredly. <em>It's better to let these two think they have this place to themselves for a while. The more comfortable they get with each other and their surroundings, the better off they'll be. I'll keep working them on the sims in the danger room that stress teamwork. That'll get 'em ready good enough</em>. With that happy thought, Logan finally drifted off to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Taryn! Hay girl hay! And...Queen is the great equalizer. Freddie Mercury, bringing us all together.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jean looked at the flyer in her hand with increasing interest. She was only a sophomore now, but the tryouts for next year's soccer team were coming up. She'd been given the flyer by chance in the lunch line. Scott was encouraging her to go for it, but Jean wasn't so sure.</p><p>“Scott, I've never played soccer. I played a little when I was like, 9, but I was the Left Wing Defender. Nothing ever came to me. Most of these girls will have been playing since Junior High School.”</p><p>“So what? It's an open invitation. It says so right there. If you're interested, you should go for it.”</p><p>“Well, why don't you try out for a sport? I hear Mr. McCoy is looking for track junkies.”</p><p>“I don't like running. How is running a sport?”</p><p>“You certainly go jogging enough.”</p><p>“It's just something to do until my Billiards table is delivered.”</p><p>“Why don't you just call it a pool table like a normal person?”</p><p>“Whatever. I'm not athletic, but you are. You should go for this!”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Definitely. We'll just talk to the Professor, and I'm sure Logan will move our...uh...<em>sessions </em>from 3:00 to 4:00 or 4:30.”</p><p>Jean glanced at the people around them, looking oddly at Scott. “You know they can't hear us, right?”</p><p>“What?"</p><p>“I didn't want them butting into our conversation, so we're kind of in a bubble. No one can hear us."</p><p>“Oh. Well, I didn't know. Are you sure it works?"</p><p>Jean smirked. “I’m sure. Unless you want to shout out a secret or something, but I can't guarantee I'll keep this up if that's that case..."</p><p>“You're mean."</p><p>“You sure you don't want to take advantage of my generous offer?"</p><p>"I'm sure."</p><p>"Going once."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Going twice."</p><p>"Unless you wanted me to mention something about your strange affinity for --"</p><p>"Oh, and we're out of time! Darn!"</p><p>Scott looked at her suspiciously, and turned to the person in front of him in the line. "Hey, Linda, you can hear me, right?"</p><p>The girl in question, Linda, rolled her eyes. "Whatever Scott." <em>That guy is so weird. I'll never understand why someone like Jean hangs out with him</em>.</p><p>Jean looked at Linda oddly, but didn't say anything. She'd learned months ago that it was worse to address someone's thoughts than ignore them. It didn't stop her from wondering why exactly she was liked so much better than Scott, though.</p><p>"Maybe you should try photography," Scott was saying, pointing to another random flyer on the wall as they paid for their food. "They need willing students to take pictures for the yearbook."</p><p><em>Yeah, and lug around a camera that weighs 20 pounds</em>.</p><p>Jean looked up sharply at a petite brunette who'd just had the thought. Taryn? Wasn't that her name?</p><p>Scott was still waiting for her reply. "Jean?"</p><p>"I dunno, it's probably being played up. The camera probably weighs 20 pounds."</p><p>The girl Taryn, turned her head slightly at that. <em>That was weird. She's probably just very perceptive</em>.</p><p>"Well, maybe you could ask someone about it. And I still think you should go out for the soccer team."</p><p>"What are you going out for?" <em>Our team needs more muscle. Maybe she's a forward</em>.</p><p>Scott and Jean turned to see that the girl, Taryn had caught up with them.</p><p>"Um, nothing. Scott just thought I should go out for the soccer team," Jean answered quickly, before Scott could answer 'Left Wing Defender.'</p><p>"What position were you thinking about?" Taryn explained, smiling. <em>We really do need a forward. I wonder how athletic she is</em>.</p><p>Scott looked oddly blank, and Jean wanted to mentally nudge him to relax, but as he had been developing his shields, and she had been developing her mental abilities, it took too much concentration for her to pass the message until she got stronger. "I played a little soccer when I was little, but I don't quite know the labels and everything. I probably wouldn't be an asset to the team," she said then.</p><p>"Oh, no. The flyers are out for a reason; we need members badly. It's an open invitation. Says so right here," Taryn pointed out the words on the flyer, and Jean saw Scott finally grin.</p><p>"That's what I told her."</p><p>Taryn demurely tucked her hair behind an ear. <em>I hope he's her cousin or something</em>.</p><p>"So you're on the team?" Jean asked quickly, trying to concentrate harder on not intercepting the girl’s  thoughts, but she was unusually loud.</p><p>"Junior Varsity favorite for next year. I'm Taryn Fujioka, by the way," Taryn smiled as they entered the lunch area. She sat down at an empty table and glanced expectantly at the pair. Jean uncertainly followed suit, and Scott took her cues.</p><p>"I'm Jean, this is Scott," Jean said, pointing to herself and Scott respectively, feeling immeasurably lame. As if she didn't know.</p><p>"You guys are new here, right? Are you related?" <em>Please be related. Or something. He's soo cute</em>.</p><p>"Uh, no, we're not related," Scott answered, as Jean mentally cheered him.</p><p>"Oh, really? You seem so close..." <em>I hope they're not dating</em>.</p><p>Scott colored lightly, and Jean grinned. "Well, we both live in Xavier's boarding house, just up the hill?"</p><p>"Oh," Taryn said, nodding. <em>That creepy place? I thought it was condemned or something</em>. "Where did you used to go? Did you get a scholarship here or something?"</p><p>"No," answered Jean, at the same time Scott answered "Yes." They quickly looked at each other, then back at Taryn, then Jean answered "Yes," at the same time Scott answered "No."</p><p><em>Okay then</em>, Taryn thought, looking at them both in confusion.</p><p>"It's complicated," Scott said lamely.</p><p><em>Whatever</em>. "Well, you really should go out for the team. I'll put in a good word for you if you want," Taryn stood up, her scant lunch already finished.</p><p>"Um, sure! That would be nice," Jean said, smiling as she meandered away.</p><p>"Bye, Taryn," Scott added, waving.</p><p>Jean put her head in her hands.</p><p>"What? I was saying goodbye."</p><p>"She likes you, you dummy. And all you did was make it worse."</p><p>"She likes me?" Scott looked utterly amazed. "Wow. So was she thinking about me the entire time?"</p><p>"No, she was thinking about her soccer team too."</p><p>"She seriously likes me?"</p><p>"Oh boy."</p><p>"Like, what was she thinking? What does she like about me?"</p><p>"Why? Do you like her?"</p><p>"What? No, I just found it interesting that she likes me. I wonder what position she plays?”</p><p>"Power forward, I'm guessing," Jean muttered, frowning. She didn't know why it should bother her that Scott liked Taryn, but it did.</p><p>"Wow. That's like, the goal-getter, isn't it?"</p><p>"Since when do you know so much about soccer?"</p><p>"I know a little bit."</p><p>Jean watched his face as he lapsed again into silence, and he kept glancing in the direction Taryn had gone. She scowled. <em>Fine, Mr. Summers. You think little miss athlete is so cute? You want a power forward? I'll show you a power forward</em>.</p><p>Jean's mind had been made up. She would sign up for not only soccer, but photography, and archery, and whatever else there was to try out for. She would blow everyone else away. And when she'd become the popular sort of person Scott obviously went for, she'd blow him off for a jock. That would show him.</p><p>"C'mon, Scott, let's go find the sign up sheets for summer activities."</p><p>"It's only April, Jean," Scott started, before Jean pulled him to his feet.</p><p>"I've decided to go out for soccer, and photography too. What are you going to sign up for?"</p><p>"Um...Band?"</p><p>"Whatever. Let's get involved, Summers!"</p><hr/><p>Scott had never signed his name so many times in his life. He didn't even know half the things he'd signed up for. Jean had been a woman with a purpose, and not even Scott's assessment that his hand was going to fall off would deter her. He didn't know where half her energy had come from. He could only assume that she'd picked it up from Taryn at lunch, because that was when she started this madness. He'd just been concentrating the entire time on not saying anything dumb. He didn't think he'd succeeded. Jean had seemed annoyed with him. Then again, she could hear thoughts, including Taryn, who must've thought he was being lame. He wasn't sure if Jean was pulling his leg or not when she'd said that Taryn liked him. Maybe it was one of those weird girl things, where she would say something, and it was a test to see what his reaction was.</p><p>They’d started at lunch, and it was like the breaks for their last classes didn’t even exist. Jean would pick up where she’d left off. She had somehow procured a list that she was crossing and checking religiously. She managed to get to her classes, Scott assumed, and then she dragged him off to sign up for more activities after the final bell rang.</p><p>One memorable signing up was when Jean had shoved a list in his face that proclaimed 'Junior Varsity Football.' As he'd put his hand on the pen, he'd been pushed aside by some blonde guy about his age who didn't think he qualified. Scott had scowled at him, but he'd taken the list and signed so big that Scott couldn't fit his name on. By the time all this had happened, Jean, who had left and come back from track team sign ups, had grabbed his arm and dragged him to talk to Mr. McCoy. Scott just decided that he wouldn't want to be on that guy's team anyway.</p><p>Another memorable signing up was when both had been in line for Boys and Girls' Basketball Teams, respectively. There had been a commotion up front with Todd Tolansky, and the Boy's Basketball Representative refusing to let him sign up. Jean had thought it unfair, and said so, and to Scott's amazement, half the guys in his line agreed with her. Todd had been allowed to sign up, though he did so grudgingly. While waiting for Jean to sign, since her line had been longer, he'd caught Todd's eye and waved...and Todd had just given him a strangely knowing smile, and then sneezed. Scott just thought it was odd.</p><p>Nevertheless, walking to the car, Scott was whining loudly about his cramped hand.</p><p>"Learn to be ambidextrous, you crybaby," Jean had teased.</p><p>"Have you been possessed or something? All that time signing up for this stuff; do you have any idea how late we are for Danger Room sim?"</p><p>"Logan's probably sleeping anyway...wait...there's something I'm supposed to remember about the Danger Room...What is it?"</p><p>"I don't know, you're supposed to be the psychic."</p><p>"I wonder if Ororo's back from the city yet?"</p><p>"I dunno. I just hope we're not going to be chewed out in triplicate for being late."</p><p>"It's really bugging me now. What about the Danger Room am I supposed to be remembering?"</p><p>Scott shrugged, concentrating on the road.</p><p>"Was it about the actual sim? Logan never tells us what they are until we're actually there. And he only refers to them as numbers."</p><p>"Jean, could you do something about this? We're hitting red lights I didn't know existed."</p><p>"What did you expect, dummy? Everyone's out of school, not just us."</p><p>"We never have traffic problems when we leave when we're supposed to," he muttered, and Jean glared at him.</p><p>"Who was it that was urging me to sign up for the soccer team?"</p><p>"I didn't say to sign up for the soccer team, and the track team, and the archery club, and the basketball team, and the drama club, and --"</p><p>"Whatever. It's still your fault," Jean pouted, sticking her tongue out at him.</p><p>“That’s not the point,” Scott said as they pulled into the garage. “The point is --”</p><p>“Yer late,” came Logan’s voice from the doorway.</p><p>Jean jumped. Scott whirled on her. “I told you he wouldn’t be sleeping,” he hissed.</p><p>“You didn’t tell me anything,” Jean hissed back.</p><p>“Anything ya wanna share with the class Red?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Jean said, as Scott turned to face Logan once more.</p><p>“Good. If you would pay attention, you’d realize I’m not in uniform. Charles has been waitin’ to talk to ya.”</p><p>Scott glanced at Logan, just to make sure he wasn’t in uniform, and only Jean’s nudge at his back made him move. Logan, satisfied, had moved on, not bothering to hold the door open.</p><p>Jean looked pained. Scott paused. “Jean? What’s wrong?”</p><p>She looked at him. “I still can’t think what it is about the Danger Room I’m supposed to remember.”</p><p>Scott sighed. “Well, you look like you’re hurt. Don’t scowl so much.”</p><p>Jean opened her eyes, glaring at him. “You’re really on one today, aren’t you?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Just…all day you’ve been snapping at me. What’s up?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Yeah, Mr. ‘don’t scowl so much.’”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“You seriously haven’t noticed? You’re acting like a…like…”</p><p>“Please do articulate, now,” Scott said, smiling wryly.</p><p>“Shut up! Like that! You’re being mean!”</p><p>“That’s not mean! Maybe you need to loosen up!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You were like a madman earlier! You signed up for anything that didn’t move!”</p><p>“Y’see, Charles? One missed Danger Room session, and look at ‘em. They’re bitin’ each other’s heads off.”</p><p>Scott and Jean paused, mid-rant to look up, only to see Ororo, Logan, and the Professor waiting for them. Any retort Jean might have made about the “madman” comment died on her lips.</p><p>“Are you two all right?” Charles asked, looking at the pair with concern.</p><p>“Are we in trouble? Scott asked hurriedly, clamping his mouth shut afterwards.</p><p>“Most certainly not, Mr. Summers,” the Professor said carefully. “Should you be?”</p><p>“We’re late,” Jean translated, carefully not looking Scott’s way.</p><p>“As I understand, you had a late start, did you not?”</p><p>Scott and Jean looked at each other, then at the Professor. They had?</p><p>Logan rubbed at his nose, coughing, and when Scott chanced to catch his eye, he winked.</p><p>“Yes,” Scott said carefully, looking pointedly at Jean, who nodded.</p><p>“It’s understandable, then, if your day was thrown off balance.”</p><p>“Sure is,” Jean said, still nodding.</p><p>“Now that that’s settled, I had wanted to talk to you about a change in your schedules effective as of tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“What kind of change, Professor?” Scott asked the question to buy time. If the Professor was explaining about this change, he might not notice that Jean’s face was screwed up in confusion, obviously not listening to anything. She was being so strange today.</p><p>“It is a minor change in preparation for the summer months. Until summer starts, you will continue to have your Danger Room sims, at the times they are at now, excepting the morning excersizes, which starting now, will be at 6:30 instead of 6:45, every day, not every other day.”</p><p>That got Jean’s attention. “Why? It’s such a minor change, what difference will it make?”</p><p>“It will give you more stability, a better routine, and 15 extra minutes to get to school. Do you not agree that it’s a good trade off?”</p><p>“Do we have a sim today?”</p><p>“Not a sim so much as another lesson in <em>repairing</em> the Danger Room when it’s been hit too hard. We have Slim here to thank fer that, Chuck.”</p><p>“Logan, are you sure you want to lead them in this excersize? You only have 2 ½ hours of sleep in you,” this statement was Ororo’s, richly concerned, but Logan smirked it off.</p><p>“Aw, c’mon, ‘Ro, have a little faith in me.”</p><p>“What <em>is</em> it!” Jean exclaimed then, stamping her foot on the floor in frustration.</p><p>Everyone looked at her oddly. Logan just pointedly looked away, starting toward the Danger Room.</p><p>“What was that about?” he muttered at Scott, who had jogged to catch up with him.</p><p>“She just can’t remember something about the Danger Room. It’s been bugging her.”</p><p>“Huh. Well, here’s her chance, we’re opening the doors.”</p><p>Jean hurried to the doors just as they opened, and nothing was out of the ordinary, besides the fact that the people entering the Danger Room were dressed as Civilians, not X-men.</p><p>As Logan tinkered with the motherboard on the wall, Scott turned to Jean, who was still looking bothered.</p><p>“You think I’m the one who’d acting weird?” he muttered, making her scowl.</p><p>Jean opened her mouth to retort rudely, but was cut off abruptly by a loud noise as Logan powered the lights.</p><p>
  <em>BI-cycle! BI-cycle! BI-cycle! I want to ride my BI-cycle! BI-cycle! BI-cycle!</em>
</p><p>“I…uh…just remembered what I left in the Danger Room,” Jean muttered, her face turning red.</p><p>“Red, I’m surprised at you,” Logan said, looking stern.</p><p>“Frankly, so am I,” Scott said, though he looked like he was holding back laughter.</p><p>
  <em>I want to ride my BicyCLE! I want to ride my Bike! I want to ride my BicyCLE! I want to ride it where I like!</em>
</p><p>“I couldn’t remember where I left it, and then –”</p><p>“Jean, I really can’t believe you,” Scott interrupted seriously, cracking a smile and trying to hide it.</p><p>Logan coughed, trying to disguise laughter. Jean started smiling. “What?”</p><p>Logan finally let loose a bark of laughter. “This is…the most…ridiculous song…I’ve…ever heard,” he gasped, as Scott wiped tears from his eyes.</p><p><em>Hey man! Jaws was never my scene and I don’t like Star Wars</em>!</p><p>Jean started laughing too.</p><p>“What?” Logan asked, looking oddly at Scott, who had started singing along.</p><p>“I just wish I had a camera,” Jean said, laughing harder as Scott started strumming an air guitar, singing higher than his voice could reach. Scott beamed at her laughter and redoubled his efforts, ignoring Logan when he flinched.</p><p>“This is when super-hearing doesn’t work fer me,” Logan said over the singing, shaking his head.</p><p>“I really didn’t remember this was in here,” Jean said seriously, flinching as the voices of Queen got higher. Scott got higher too.</p><p>“I’ll let this go on one condition,” Logan said loudly, hands over his ears.</p><p>“Don’t do it again?” Jean guessed, just as loudly.</p><p>“No, burn me a copy so I can listen to Queen sing it, not this knucklehead,” Logan said, smiling.</p><p>Jean took his hand, shaking it. “Deal. Let’s turn it off and see how long it takes for Scott to stop singing it.”</p><p>“I heard that!” Scott said, smirking as the song was cut off.</p><p>“Dang,” Jean said, snapping her fingers in disappointment, but smiling good-naturedly.</p><p>“This belongs to you,” Logan said, grinning lopsidedly as he held out the CD.</p><p>“We should do REM now,” Scott suggested, as Jean rolled her eyes.</p><p>“I’m gonna put this in my room so I won’t forget it again.”</p><p>“You do that, Red.” Logan said, shaking his head and pulling wires out of the wall, jumping as two sparked.</p><p>“Are you sure you should be working this stuff on 2 hours of sleep?” Scott wheedled, noting Logan’s yawn.</p><p>“You kiddin’? Listenin’ to a tone-deaf teenager butcher Queen’ll wake up anyone,” Logan retorted, though his statement was punctuated with another yawn.</p><p>“I’m not tone-deaf, I’m musically-challenged,” Scott came back, coming up to Logan and taking the wires from him. “Electricity and adamantium don’t mix,” he added, twisting the wires in question back together again.</p><p>“Whatever. Tell Red not to forget my copy. When I wake up I expect this wall to not spark, got it?”</p><p>“Sure,” Scott said, sitting down and dislodging another panel, revealing more wires that were burned or severed.</p><p>Shortly, Jean came back, carrying two sodas, which she tossed to Scott. “Pick one.”</p><p>Scott selected one can at random, not looking at the logo before drinking it.</p><p>“Didn’t pin you as the Fruit Punch type,” Jean said sardonically, taking the remaining can for herself and settling on the floor beside him.</p><p>“It works,” Scott said, fitting the panel back into the wall.</p><p>“We’re good, right?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, we were being…I dunno. Kind of rude to each other.”</p><p>“Maybe Logan’s right. We shouldn’t go too long without those Danger Room sessions.”</p><p>Jean laughed appreciatively. “That’s probably it. We need to stick to a routine.”</p><p>“Are you really going to do all those activities next year?”</p><p>“Maybe. Not all of them, but some of them.”</p><p>“You did kind of go crazy.”</p><p>“I guess so.”</p><p>There was silence, broken only by the scraping of metal as Scott replaced the panel and dislodged another one. Jean wordlessly fixed the sparking wires telekinetically, and reaffixed this panel too.</p><p>“Do you think the Professor will find more students?” Scott asked then, taking a sip of his soda and toying with the metal tab on top.</p><p>“I hope so. It’s kind of…I dunno. Weird.”</p><p>“How so?” Scott didn’t sound at all sarcastic, just curious. He saw Jean smile, though there was a trace of…anger?</p><p>“Forget it. It’s just weird for <em>me</em>, I guess.”</p><p>His curiosity roused, Scott faced her, the wall panels forgotten. “Jean, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Jean had already picked off the metal tab on her soda can and absently twisted it in her hands now. “I’m just feeling a little lonely. I love it here, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes…”</p><p>Scott was silent, waiting for her to finish.</p><p>“I don’t know. It’s nothing personal, Scott, but sometimes I miss my sister, or my friends from my old school. I just wish then that I was normal. Not a mutant. I just want to be like everyone else.”</p><p>Scott opened his mouth uncertainly. “I can’t exactly say I want to go back to how my life was before,” he said slowly, “But I do wish I weren’t a mutant sometimes. My life would have been less…”</p><p>“Complicated?” Jean suggested, looking at him.</p><p>“Hellish, actually, was the word I was looking for,” Scott said seriously, grinning absently.</p><p>“I guess it’s just bad luck,” Jean said then, downing the rest of her soda and setting the can behind her.</p><p>“There is no luck,” Scott said immediately, more harshly than he’d intended.</p><p>Jean pulled a face, “So now we’re back to being rude to each other?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean that as cruel as it came across,” Scott said at once, apologetic.</p><p>“It’s all right,” Jean replied, though still looking at him suspiciously, “I just didn’t expect my head to be bitten off about it.”</p><p>“ ‘Nothing happens by chance, my friend... No such thing as luck. A meaning behind every little thing, and such a meaning behind this. Part for you, part for me, may not see it all real clear right now, but we will, before long.’ ”</p><p>Jean blinked. “Huh?”</p><p>“Richard Bach. Just confirms something I believe, that’s all.”</p><p>“You believe...that something good comes from everything?”</p><p>“I didn’t say that. I said that everything has consequence, good or bad, and meaning we don’t understand yet.”</p><p>“You believe that?”</p><p>“Yeah, I do.”</p><p>“Even how much your life has royally sucked?”</p><p>“Something came of my life royally sucking.”</p><p>Jean smirked. “You got a shiny pair of sunglasses?”</p><p>Scott smiled, looking away from her. “No. I met you.”</p><p>Jean flushed, and Scott was silent, unable to believe he’d made such a bold statement.</p><p>“Oh,” Jean said then, her face at spectacular odds with her hair.</p><p>There was a tense silence for a few moments, and Scott just smiled, and pulled off another panel on the wall, checking for frayed and broken wires.</p><p>Jean finally joined him; the silence was more comfortable when they worked together instead of trying to think of a conversation.</p><p>Scott couldn’t help thinking over the quote he’d brought to mind; He really wasn’t as mad at God as he thought he’d been. He just hadn’t realized the fact until thinking about the quote. If nothing happened by chance…wasn’t that just another way of saying that everyone was destined to walk their own path of life? That God was the only one who controlled the lessons people learned and the meanings they took from their experiences, good or bad?</p><p>He laughed aloud, ignoring Jean’s confused face. <em>Fine, God</em>, he thought then, smiling and starting a new thread of conversation with Jean, throwing bits of plastic at her that he found in the wall;<em> I get it. Truce</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How do our youth cope with Spring Fever? The restless Toad goes job-hunting! Scott is an inexplicable math genius! And Jean needs shin-guards!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As April faded to May, the majority of Bayville High students were sufficiently panicked about the end-of-year exams, not to mention the state test that everyone had to take. The majority of students were freaked out about last minute details like damaged textbooks, late fees that had racked up in the library, or cleaning out their lockers. Todd Tolansky never had been in the majority. He was a minority. An anomaly in and of himself. To his peers, Todd was crazy for not being more worried about his educational status than he was. Everyone knew he couldn’t possibly be passing his classes…could he?</p><p>Todd, in fact, had been doing very well in the courses he’d been skipping since his transfer, and had even gotten a few strings pulled so he could take summer school courses and not repeat the ninth grade. (Again) He didn’t think that some of the teachers took into account his terms with the principal, who was admittedly a very scary woman. He didn’t think that even though he hadn’t been picked for teams in his gym class, and his participation had, hence, been very poor, his gym teacher, one Henry McCoy, would let it slide after seeing the potential Todd had to be a basketball star.</p><p>Todd just basked in his passing grades and didn’t worry about anything monetary. He didn’t even know where the library was, let alone getting a late fee there. And his locker? He’d never figured out the combination, and so had lived off of the student stores of supplies and the kindness of unsuspecting guys at lunch that left their books under their chairs just for him to borrow. In his mind, Todd had nothing to worry about.</p><p> He didn’t know, nor did he ever care to find out the stress that he’d put Mystique through; she pulled more strings than she knew she had to get him out of paying for the damaged book he’d returned that wasn’t even his, and wormed out of his lunch fee by blackmailing the head lunch lady. Lucky for Todd that she had practice in keeping her temper in check, though her secretary had never had a more nerve-wracking day in her life than the day Mystique had to threaten Todd’s English teacher with something very painful involving a fork, a naughty word, and his monthly salary.</p><p>Todd was just shrugging off the irate hall monitor for the thousandth time, making empty promises about a detention he owed to make up a few of his missing credits, when he saw the flyer. It was a sign up sheet for a summer job with a man named Kevin who owned a gym. Free time on the equipment and a $7 an hour pay for cleaning the place on weekends.</p><p>Todd absently snatched the flyer from the wall, stuffing it into his pocket amidst the protests of the hall monitor whom he hadn’t managed to shake yet, and thought about it. He could always save the money. He knew how to save money. Whenever his mother took his pa back; after he’d cheated on her again; her money would mysteriously disappear; aid to his pa’s alcohol/whore/get-rich-quick-scheme fund. His money had kept the landlord from evicting them quite a few times.</p><p>Caught up in his reminiscing, Todd had to stop and think when he stepped outside. Was school over, or was he just skipping? After he really thought about it, Todd realized that not only was school over, but he’d gone to all of the classes today. All of <em>his</em> classes, even. Pleased, Todd grinned, pulling on the shoelaces of his not-quite-dead shoes (They were in their <em>prime</em>, thankyouverymuch) and getting started on some serious hopping.</p><p>Mystique had said something about how he shouldn’t do that, since mutants hadn’t been exposed yet, but Todd paid it no mind. It would take him close to 45 minutes to get home otherwise, even with all the shortcuts he could take. <em>Then again, </em>he thought, as he hopped a fence in one try, <em>most of my shortcuts require my skills anyway</em>.</p><p>Todd wasn’t surprised at the silence he felt upon opening the door to the Victorian manor he called home. Mystique was caught up in principal stuff, and who else did he expect to be home? Deciding on blowing off the potentially boring day he saw before him, Todd pulled out the flyer, grinned, and turned around, going off to find a job.</p>
<hr/><p>“OhmigodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmigodohmyGAAAAHH!”</p><p>Jean tried hard to suppress her own commentary, but found it harder than she realized. She was, after all, free-floating 50 feet above the ground. 10 feet above the tightrope Ororo had set up, and no crash pad in sight.</p><p>“You’re doing marvelously, Jean! I don’t see why you’re so worried!”</p><p><em>Of course you don’t see how I’m worried, you optimistic sunbeam! You ride winds! Cheater! I’m being held by my freaking </em>mind<em>!!</em></p><p>“Now Jean, you aren’t thinking unpleasant thoughts about me, are you?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ororo,” Jean called shakily, trying not to look down. She’d been working on rising and lowering her own body mass, and was now moving on to actually going forward and backward. By far, lifting herself in the first place was the hardest, but Jean found that she couldn’t catch herself if she fell, hence her hesitance.</p><p>“For the thousandth time, I can catch you if you fall!”</p><p>“You can’t isolate a tornado in the time it would take me to freefall, Ororo,” Jean argued, trying to delay any movement for as long as possible.</p><p>“Then raise yourself higher!”</p><p>“Are you insane?!”</p><p>“Quite the opposite! Once you learn to fly you’ll love it, trust me!”</p><p>“Jean, you could always ask Logan if he’ll volunteer as your crash pad,” came a new voice, sarcastic but partially serious.</p><p>“Scott Summers, I will <em>kill</em> you!” Jean yelled, after dropping about 2 feet in altitude because he’d startled her.</p><p>“Jean, please just try. If you at least try, I’ll turn you over to Scott for your mental shielding exercises.”</p><p>“Jean, you hear that! Mental shielding with <em>me</em>!”</p><p>“Way to motivate, Ororo,” Jean said loudly, grinning and trying to focus her mind.</p><p>“Hey, I resent that!” Scott yelled back, sitting on the grass nonetheless.</p><p>Jean tried a picture in her mind that resembled her on a pulley system, going forward steadily. She shrieked when she felt her mental picture becoming reality.</p><p>“Ohmigod, Ororo, I’m going to die!”</p><p>“You’re doing fine! Try imagining zero gravity! That will help your movements be less jerky!”</p><p>Jean instead, turned upside down with this new imagery, and shrieked louder.</p><p>“All right, Jean, I think that’s enough for today,” Ororo said, sounding pained. Jean relaxed as she felt a combination of wind and the reassuring rock-climbing ropes take hold on her body, relieving the pressure to hold herself up with her mind.</p><p>“Jean, you were higher today,” Scott mentioned casually when she’d reached the ground.</p><p>“Nearly 50 feet, thank you, and I almost had a heart attack.”</p><p>“You were doing fine until you went all upside down,” Scott said, grinning as Jean punched him in the arm.</p><p>“I just want to be able to hold my own in the danger room,” Jean said, folding her arms. “I’m not learning levitation for my health you know.”</p><p>“Technically –” Scot started, before Jean cut him off again.</p><p>“Save it. The point is, if I can fly and disable the cannons, all the better for defending you, Mr. Cyclops.”</p><p>“Speaking of which, you still don’t have a code name,” Scott said smoothly, taking the heat off himself effectively as Jean’s brow furrowed.</p><p>“Do you think Logan is too mad?” she asked then, sounding worried.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. As long as he can call you his little nickname, I think he’s fine. Besides. I don’t think even <em>he</em> can come up with a codename for you.”</p><p>“Whatever, you couldn’t help me out either.”</p><p>“I suggested several, actually.”</p><p>“Seriously, Scott. ‘Spider woman?’”</p><p>“I said I suggested several codenames, I didn’t say they were codenames fitted to <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“My mistake. So where we headed?”</p><p>“Billiards.”</p><p>Jean groaned. “Again?”</p><p>“I was dying having to jog every day, and I just had to train with Logan. Billiards.”</p><p>“On the condition you call it ‘pool’ like a normal person,” Jean muttered.</p><p>“Oh contraire,” Scott said, smiling and holding open the door for her as the reached the mansion, “We play ‘billiards’ on the ‘billiards’ table. ‘Pool’ is what I’m working on in the backyard.”</p><p>“Okay, you win. Literally, I mean, since I don’t have a chance unless I telekinetically sink every ball the first hit.”</p><p>“I can’t see how you can apply physics to your telekinesis, but you can’t apply spatial geometry to pool.”</p><p>“Ha! You said pool!”</p><p>“Are you happy now? Okay. One round of <em>billiards</em>, and then we’ll do our sheildwork.”</p><p>“Aye aye, Scott master.”</p><p>“I am not a boy scout.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, Scott master.”</p><p>“Eight ball?”</p><p>Jean’s grin faded. “Your specialty,” she muttered.</p><p>“You’re pretty good too.”</p><p>"Can I have a handicap?"</p><p>"Depends on what it is," Scott said, holding the door to the rec room, where the pool table stood like a beacon declaring Jean the automatic loser.</p><p>"I get one TK shot."</p><p>"No. You only need one TK shot to sink all of the balls, and that's no fun."</p><p>"It's no fun for me without it,” Jean said, frowning.</p><p>“Fine, one TK shot, but only to speed up the ball, and only for about 5 seconds.”</p><p>“Now you’re just being cocky,” Jean muttered as he pulled his cue from its place under the table.</p><p>“There’s no pleasing you, is there?” Scott asked grinning going for the pool cues.</p><p>“Not until I beat you,” Jean said stubbornly, bringing the balls out of the pockets with her telekinesis and settling them in the frame on the pool table.</p><p>“I repeat,” Scott said, tossing the chalk to her as she pulled her own cue down from the rack on the wall without touching it, “There’s no pleasing you, is there? You know, since you can’t possibly beat me.”</p><p>Jean stuck her tongue out at him, as the white starter ball floated over to him.</p><p>“No, you can go first,” Scott said, putting his hand up to stop the ball.</p><p>“I didn’t say I wasn’t going first, Mr. Summers, I was merely suggesting you break.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Jean didn’t say anything, though the white ball thumped onto the table in front of him.</p><p>Scott grinned, positioning the ball and his cue just so, the angles each ball would bounce playing in his mind. He took his shot, not surprised that he sunk four balls in one go, but definitely surprised that the breaker ball went into a pocket as well.</p><p>“Scratch,” Jean said boredly, pulling the balls out that had just gone in and replacing the white ball.</p><p>“Wait a minute,” Scott said, eyes narrowed behind his shades. “Did you just use your TK to make me scratch?”</p><p>“I know not of what you speak,” Jean said haughtily, as all the striped balls fell into different pockets at her shot. “My turn again, right? Look! Eight ball in the corner pocket!”</p><p>Scott gaped wordlessly at this blatant cheating, but Jean merely smiled at him, floated her cue back to the stand, and picked up the cube of chalk, powdering his nose. “I win,” she stated, taking his cue from him as well, and sitting on the floor. “Shield work?”</p><p>Scott found his knees being uncooperative as he made to step back, and he was soon sitting on the floor across from Jean, still gaping at her, though she had closed her eyes and appeared not to notice.</p>
<hr/><p>Kurt Wagner absently scratched his head with the tip of his spaded tail, his chin in his hands and the pencil he was supposed to be quizzing himself with balanced on his nose. He’d been doing so well with his English lessons, and now he’d hit a slump. Phrases involving food he’d gotten immediately, and greetings were fine, but now he was into words that didn’t even exist in his native German, as well as German words that didn’t translate correctly into English.</p><p>He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to translate his polite term for Professor Xavier. The German <em>Herr</em> translated directly as ‘Gentleman,’ which didn’t make sense when he said it. The next closest thing would be ‘Mister,’ which didn’t convey the same respect that ‘Gentleman’ did. And the English way of writing confused him. It didn’t have enough letters and their sentence structure and grammar was completely backwards when written down, <em>and</em> when spoken aloud, to say nothing of different spellings, pronunciations, and horrible things called homonyms, which he decided he hated with a passion.</p><p>When his mother would look over the things he’d learned, she would say how proud she was that he was taking this task so seriously, but then point out mistakes that he’d made, mentioning that he would be going to an American school, with American English teachers who would grade him poorly for mixing up the words or misspelling them. Kurt had a new worry when he was told that homework papers usually had to be typed, which posted a problem for his unique finger shape and count.</p><p>He was almost ready to give up, but as always, his father calmed him down. Between Kurt’s mother, who tried to comfort him and ended up making him feel worse, and Kurt himself, who was the harshest judge of his skills and the worst critic; Kurt was glad for his father. He was level-headed enough to soothe him from his worries, and he could empathize with Kurt, because he himself didn’t know much English, and he honestly identified with the weight of the burden Kurt had taken on. He didn’t think he’d be able to do it by September.</p><p> He’d have to, though, his mother had chided him, trying to motivate him, but failing miserably – <em>Herr Xavier</em> had already sent him train schedules, airline brochures, and extra money to spend on essentials for the trip over. (Kurt’s mother had taken the money and hidden it so no one would be tempted to spend it before they were supposed to.)</p><p>Kurt supposed that the Professor was excited to have Kurt as a student, but he was about as good at motivating and reassuring as his mother was. Kurt again had found comfort in the gentle voice of his father. Kurt knew that it was impossible to have inherited any genetic traits from this people whom he called his parents, but growing up and being raised by them had affected his personality more than genetics ever could. He was patient, soft-spoken and sharp-minded because of his father. He’d learned these traits from him. His mother had contributed a stubborn streak that sometimes proved useful; like when he was trying to master a foreign language and refused to give up.</p><p>Kurt found that for once a pep talk he’d given himself actually helped; he pulled his pencil from its precarious perch on his nose and started scribbling broken English sentences, erasing every other word when he’d capitalized a word that didn’t need it, or spelled it wrong, or written in the German word instead. It was going to be a long process, probably unpleasant, and most likely it would be extremely difficult, but he’d learn a semblance of the English language by September if it killed him.</p>
<hr/><p>Scott found that his status in his Geometry class changed when the notices about state testing came around. He could hardly move for all the girls who hung on his arms all period; he was sure he had a cracked shoulder blade from the number of slaps he’d gotten on the back – friendly gestures of his peers on the football team – and he tried to give the same answer to all of them; he’d try and help them study, but he had other things to do, and he simply couldn’t spare the time for it if he was only doing it for the satisfaction of a job well done.</p><p>Then they started offering to pay him. Scott hadn’t foreseen that for some reason. Jean encouraged him to go for it; if he was going to tutor people, he might as well get paid for it. He finally agreed, and with Jean’s help, he made the most hellish study schedule known to man. The ideal thing, of course, was to just have everyone over to the mansion where there was plenty of space, and he could tutor several students at once, but that wasn’t possible, explained Xavier, because of the construction still going on in some of the sublevels of the house, which the general public wasn’t supposed to know existed. (The Danger Room had electrocuted Wolverine the other week, and he said it needed a little TLC. Their sessions had been held outside or at the obstacle course on Sub Level D ever since.)</p><p>Monday afternoon, therefore, (after Logan’s session and the Professor’s lesson) found Scott again at the school, making use of the empty gym, the key to which had been given to Scott by Mr. McCoy who made him promise he wouldn’t tear up the floors too badly, and by the end of tutoring his failing classmates, Scott was convinced that they’d passed so far on will alone. Half of them still didn’t know how to find the angles of a triangle, equilateral or otherwise, and the half that knew how to do that didn’t know that there were only 180 degrees total in the stupid thing and no matter how Scott explained this fact to them, they’d come to him asking if their 360 degree hectagon was measured right.</p><p>By Tuesday, Scott’s only prayer was that the week would end. By Wednesday, Scott never wanted to hear the words sin or cosin again. Thursday had him convinced he could start saving for another car with the money he was earning, and on Friday, he wanted to cry when his ‘students’ begged him for weekend lessons. Jean offered to help him out; pick his brain, help him teach, but the Professor wouldn’t allow it, and if he had, Scott wouldn’t have. He knew that the stress he’d been experiencing, coupled with his fatigue would turn his mind into either an open book or a minefield to any telepath who happened upon it. He couldn’t take that risk with Jean.</p><p>So Saturday, a day he’d looked forward to all week for a break, found him tugging at the door to the gym fruitlessly, twisting the key in the handle and begging it to open. The High School was closed on weekends. Principal Darkholme herself wouldn’t have been able to get in. (Elsewhere, Mystique sneezed and cursed Todd’s name) He ended up seating everyone on the 50 yard line of the football field, shouting for everyone’s attention and using lots of big gestures to make up for the lack of a whiteboard. He thought it may have been the best lesson they’d had yet; Not nearly as many people confused sin and cosine, and a few could tell the difference between triangles. Scott was almost proud of his small army of mathematically dysfunctional teens.</p><p>As they had finally grasped the basics, Scott took his payment quietly and slipped back to the mansion for a well-deserved Sunday off, only to be spirited away by Jean, who needed a companion to buy shin guards with. “Jean, I’m tired,” he tried, as she pulled him behind her, grabbing the keys to his convertible and turning him 360 degrees, back out the door he’d come in not 6 seconds earlier.</p><p>“I offered you help and you denied me. It’s your own fault,” Jean argued, pushing him into the passenger seat as she pulled her hair out of her face.</p><p>“I didn’t know I had to go shopping,” Scott muttered, shutting his eyes against the blaring music that was emanating from his speakers.</p><p>“How do you listen to this crap?” Jean asked incredulously, turning the stereo off and peeling out of the garage.</p><p>Scott didn’t answer, he just prayed for his mortal soul as they nearly crashed into the gate.</p><p>“Scott, I expected you to be a little more supportive,” Jean called over the rushing wind, crisis of the gate averted when it finally opened and Jean resumed her speeding.</p><p>“I’m plenty supportive, but I’m also dead tired right now,” Scott objected, hitching his seat belt tighter as they fishtailed around a corner.</p><p>“I went to the soccer tryouts on Wednesday, and I got forward! I’m excited! I want you to be excited with me!”</p><p>“That’s great Jean,” Scott said, trying to sound upbeat, but failing.</p><p>“Not only that but I got a call from the Yearbook president, and she wants me to cover the football games next year!”</p><p>“Terrific.”</p><p>“And Mr. McCoy wants me on his lacrosse team.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“How about you?”</p><p>“I don’t want to join the girl’s lacrosse team!” Scott insisted, afraid she’d make him sign up for it anyway.</p><p>“Don’t be stupid. You’d look horrendous in the uniform. No, I meant callbacks. Did you get any calls about teams?”</p><p>“Um,” Scott said, afraid to break the news to her. He’d been in major Geometry meltdown all week. He’d missed tryouts for nearly every team he’d signed up for.</p><p>“You missed the tryouts?!” Jean exclaimed, screeching into a parking space at a random restaurant and looking at him incredulously.</p><p>“Sort of,” Scott muttered, ill at ease now that the car had stopped moving and Jean’s attention was focused on him.</p><p>“What haven’t you missed?”</p><p>Scott muttered incoherently about not being able to play an instrument and Mr. McCoy not needing track and field competitors until next year; something about funding and expired deadlines.</p><p>“Don’t make me read your mind, Scott Summers,” Jean hissed, eyes narrowed.</p><p>Scott gulped. “You don’t know how hard it was to force learning into the brains of today’s youth,” he said in defense, wincing as if she’d explode. He glimpsed instead, to his great surprise and discomfort, a fleeting look on Jean’s face of disappointment and hurt. It was replaced quickly by a mask of nonchalance, her mouth in a straight line as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door, Scott quickly following suit as she waited for him and they made their way toward a shop on the other side of the Restaurant.</p><p>“You weren’t into it anyway,” she was saying airily. “It’s better that you didn’t sign up for a team you didn’t want to be on.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scott said, nodding, agreeing with her in the hopes that she’d drop this weird vibe she was putting off.</p><p>“It’s best for the school, and for the teams that you didn’t join, really,” she said firmly, though she still sounded a little disappointed.</p><p>“Jean,” Scott started, ready to plead his case, before she stopped and looked at him.</p><p>“No, Scott, really. It’s okay. The more I think about it, the better it is that you didn’t get onto any teams. After all, Duncan said that half the guys who sign up for the sports end up getting third string anyway. You wouldn’t have had fun at all.”</p><p>Almost ready to agree with her, Scott stopped. “Wait, what? Duncan? Who’s Duncan?”</p><p>“Duncan Matthews. He’s second-string receiver for the Hawks. He might even move up next year with the upper-classmen – be a JV and get in a few games.”</p><p>“The name doesn’t sound familiar,” Scott muttered, an inexplicable anger forming in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“Oh, I know you’ve seen him,” Jean said, her tone now changed as she tried to get him to remember who Duncan was. She sounded much more upbeat; her cheerfulness wasn’t being forced as it had been a moment ago when she was convincing him (or was it herself?) that he was better off not being involved in school activities. “He’s about your height – burlier, though. And he’s blonde, he’s earned a letter already for football, and he’s going to try for a letter in track and field next year.”</p><p>Scott frowned. It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember Duncan. He could – the picture had formed almost immediately in his mind – the problem was the guy himself. Scott’s few encounters with him hadn’t left the best impression on his end. As Jean bubbled on about the teams she’d made, the people on the yearbook staff, the things they said, Duncan Matthews, Taryn Fujioka, and her new soccer coach, Scott felt, for the first time, an invisible barrier. It was nothing to do with the mutant gene they both had…For the first time, Scott appreciated that their lives had been thrust together by chance.</p><p>“Scott are you listening?”</p><p>Scott didn’t hear her, lost in thoughts as he was. He didn’t notice as she waved her hand in front of him. Really, he and Jean were very different people, with different personalities, different backgrounds, different choices of social circles, as it were…</p><p>“Scott, you’re…um…wow…you’re being really <em>loud</em>, if you know what I mean,” she whispered now.</p><p>Still deaf to Jean as she frantically hissed at him, Scott continued his somewhat depressed musings, walking through a door as she continued to try and get his attention. Had their mutant genes not existed, Scott very much doubted that he and Jean would ever have met. Where would they be now? Jean, doubtlessly, would live a pampered, suburban life with her perfect family somewhere in Westchester or Annandale-on-Hudson; upper-class, and upper-crust. Scott would probably be in jail or on the streets, a vagrant, begging for money and picking pockets to survive.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jean broke in, scowling at him.</p><p>Scott blinked, looking at her in puzzlement. “I’m sorry, what?” Scott said slowly, hoping she wouldn’t chew him out for not listening to whatever it was she was saying.</p><p>“I’m not saying I blame you, but you are slowly becoming the most depressed person I’ve ever met,” Jean said bluntly, taking his hand, ignoring his protests, and pulling him out of the store they had meandered into moments before.</p><p>“What are you talking about!?” Scott objected, looking confusedly at her as she stopped at the corner of the strip, folding her arms.</p><p>“First of all, it’s not my fault,” she said without preamble, looking him straight in the eye, as serious as he’d ever seen her. “All the extra shield work we’ve been doing counts for crap when <em>you</em> lose sleep over Geometry finals. All week you’ve been really loud, which is really uncharacteristic for you, but completely understandable.” Jean looked at him expectantly. Scott’s mouth hung open. Where had this come from? And wasn’t she worried someone would hear them?</p><p>“No, no one will hear us, I’ve put up a barrier for 7 feet around us in every direction. Again, sorry for picking up your thoughts, but you have no idea, you’re practically shouting. It’s a bit annoying, actually, but what can we do? I want to know why on earth you think you’d be in jail or a hobo or something if you weren’t a mutant.”</p><p>Scott was at a loss for what to say for a moment. He processed slowly that she had been reading his thoughts because he’d been too stressed to keep even his strong mental shields functional. Quite a feat, considering he usually couldn’t tell that he had them up in the first place.</p><p>“How did this come on? I couldn’t ignore it; you were putting off a depression aura thick enough to cut with a knife!” She was clearly upset; her breath coming in impatient snorts through her nose, like a horse’s.</p><p>“Stress?” Scott tried, grinning at her as she glared angrily at him.</p><p>“I won’t have you demeaning yourself, Scott Summers,” Jean said, suddenly serious again, and not angry. She pulled him towards her, into a hug unlike any he’d ever received. It was like she was hugging him with her soul. He could only hug her back in shock. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” she muttered from her place under his chin. “We know each other inside out; better than anyone else.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Scott said, and he was just stating a fact.</p><p>“Scott, you’re the best friend I’ve had...since Annie died,” she looked up at him, and he was surprised at the words – she was being totally honest, and it showed on her face.</p><p>“I think you’re the only <em>real</em> friend I’ve ever had,” Scott returned, just as honest in his statement as she’d been.</p><p>“And you’re not jealous of Duncan?” The hug still hadn’t been broken, but Jean was smiling mischievously.</p><p>“No. I don’t like him, though,” Scott said, a sarcastic smirk on his face.</p><p>“Come on, Scott, Duncan’s all right. He’s a little…”</p><p>“Dim-witted? Sport-obsessed? Vain? Shallow?”</p><p>“Well, he is a little full of himself, isn’t he?” Jean pulled away from him, but taking his hand silently, wandering back down the strip, passing the scrapbook store and heading towards a Shoe store with a crooked sign above it reading ‘The Sole of Bayville.’</p><p>Scott squeezed her fingers, smiling, yawning again as they stepped into the shop. Jean smacked him, telling him to ignore his tiredness for another hour and she’d let him go to sleep, loudly declaring she needed soccer cleats and shin-guards. Glad they weren’t fighting; Scott picked up a pink and white pump from a display proclaiming unrivaled comfort, and tapped Jean on the shoulder.</p><p>“Jean, what do you think?” he asked, with a straight face, indicating the heeled shoe.</p><p>“It’s a little…clunky for me. I like shorter heels, and thinner besides,” she said, crinkling her nose at it.</p><p>“Not for you, for me,” Scott said, grinning when her expression changed into that of comical disbelief.</p><p>“Scott, get real,” she said, taking the shoe and putting it back on its stand. “Besides,” she added in a loud whisper, “pink is totally not your color.”</p><p>The pair sniggered far more that was necessary when the salesclerk came out from the back room wearing the same pink pumps.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Summer Vacation! Logan is outta here! Scott and Jean have shenanigans with Toad! Aw! Bonding! Toad and Mystique have a conversation in which she actually uses his name! Aw! Bonding!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kurt Wagner had just received very distressing news. He didn’t understand the technicalities of it, nor did he believe half of the excuses, but he knew his Mutti had been muttering horrible phrases that would have landed him a month’s grounding had he said them himself, and he and his Papa had decided against talking her down from her rage.</p><p>Basically, having been home schooled all his life, Kurt’s parents had to answer to certain people to make sure he was getting the same education as his peers in the public schools, and these people insisted that he had half a semester’s work to do before they’d allow him to transfer to another country. At most a full semester, they’d said, which of course meant the full semester. Kurt thought it might have had something to do with the tests he took each year, and how well he did- they didn’t believe he could achieve the scores he got without cheating.</p><p>Kurt was disappointed, of course, but his Mutti was furious. She would be muttering to herself and then have an outburst about intolerance and prejudice, insisting that her son should be able to go to this school if he wanted to, and then she’d slip again into her quiet fury.  Kurt had been the one to call the Professor, stating the dilemma in perfect English, excepting the odd order of words or homonyms, (how he hated them!) and the man had been almost as devastated as he himself was. He offered to use his monetary influence on them, but had been politely declined by his Mutti, who’d taken the phone from him.</p><p>“My son vill sort this out on his own, <em>Herr Xavier</em>. It is important to him.”</p><p>“I understand, <em>Frau Wagner</em>, please let me help in any way I can,” he insisted then, and a few minutes later, the conversation ended, and Kurt’s Mutti placed the phone gently in its cradle.</p><p>Kurt just did what he’d been doing all along; he pulled out more lesson books, pushed play on the ancient tape player and concentrated on getting his English right before his extended leave to America.</p><hr/><p>Logan was restless. He’d run every conceivable program for training his <em>pupils</em>, and the Danger Room was nearly obsolete. He awaited new replacement parts both for fixing the bugs in the programs and inventing new runs, and Scott had offered his help with that, but waiting wasn’t one of Logan’s strong suits. He found himself longing for the open road; he could practically hear the call of his motorcycle.</p><p>He didn’t understand it himself sometimes; why he liked to live day to day. Perhaps it was the nightmares that sometimes plagued him. The past he couldn’t remember; Did he have a family long since dead? Had he been a good person? A bad one? Did he have a real name? Perhaps it wasn’t even his past the fueled his need for movement; perhaps it was just a part of his nature, wild as it was. All Logan knew was that he tried to follow his instincts. And when his instincts told him he needed to get away for a while, even if it meant leaving the kids with Chuck and ‘Ro, he tried to listen to them, but he knew better than to just take off. He’d done that before, and the consequences hadn’t been pretty. Lightning bolts and an Adamantium skeleton don’t a happy mix make.</p><p>Thusly, he found himself in conversation with Charles now, telling him of the latest idea formulating in his mind, and the telepath surprisingly agreed to his request for some time off.</p><p>“I’m not sayin’ I wanted ya to say no, Charles, but why so eager to get ridda me?”</p><p>“I’ve been sensing your restlessness longer than even you have, old friend. If you’re cooped up in one place all summer, I do believe you’d explode on our poor students.”</p><p>“Yer probably right. I’m glad ya understand, Charles. When do ya want me back?”</p><p>“You’ll know when it’s time for you to return. I daresay you have a knack for it. Perhaps it’s another aspect of your mutation?”</p><p>“Naw. I think I can just sniff out trouble when I need to. All right. If nothin’ goes wrong, I should be back a little before the school year starts. If it does go wrong, I’ll call ya.”</p><p>“That sounds fine. I believe Scott and Jean may even try and hold Danger room sessions without you – they seem to enjoy them more now than when they first started those many months ago.”</p><p>“Think I’ll stick around fer a week or two,” Logan said lightly, but he couldn’t fool Xavier.</p><p>“Ororo will be glad to know she hasn’t missed you leaving again,” he said knowingly, smiling as Logan grunted.</p><p>“Last time she tried to electrocute me,” he muttered. “It’s fer my own safety.”</p><p>“Where do you think you’ll go?”</p><p>“Might go back up to Canada,” Logan answered immediately, glad for the change of subject. “Look around fer clues, ya know.” He popped his adamantium claws, scowling.</p><p>“Can I ask a favor of you?”</p><p>“Name it.”</p><p>“Don’t get yourself killed before term starts.”</p><p>“Got it.” Logan stretched, getting to his feet. “Might go out n’ tinker with the bike fer a while,” he said nonchalantly, popping his knuckles. “Need t’make sure it’ll run all right.”</p><p>“Dinner at 7:00, Logan,” Charles called, to a careless wave indicating Logan had heard him.</p><p>Charles just smiled, wheeling silently into his study, pulling out Cerebro’s helmet and scanning for mutant activity.</p><hr/><p>Scott was really trying to be supportive. It was only July; a month into summer vacation, and Jean had spent her hard-earned money. All of it. On her stupid club stuff for school – pardon – her required items for the teams and organizations she’d committed a great deal of her time and effort to for the next school year, and Scott could do with being a little more compassionate, thankyouverymuch. <em>Don’t make me laugh</em>, Scott thought bitterly, reminded of all the time that would be spent without Jean next year because of these teams and organizations, and unsure of how to go about fixing that. She had to realize that he didn’t make friends easily. The only people who liked him were remnants of those select students in his Geometry tutoring hell during finals, and they were bound to forget about him during the course of the summer, as people were wont to do.</p><p>Jean, of course, had dozens of friends, from the soccer stars and the jocks to the photography nerds and the Band Geeks. It helped that she was such a well-rounded person. She had something to talk about with everyone she came in contact with. Scott knew a few teachers who considered her a favorite of theirs already because of her sharp insight and knowledge of their subjects<em>. I wonder what they’d say if they realized she’s a telepath</em>, Scott wondered irritably.</p><p>Jean, from across the din of the party she’d dragged him to, shot him a look that clearly said ‘Be nice.’ Scott pretended he hadn’t seen her and looked sourly at an eighth grader who’d crashed the party. The poor boy squeaked in fright and retreated to the ping-pong table set up in the corner. His mantra of ‘Be supportive’ was slowly diminishing in favor of ‘Make Duncan Matthews cry.’</p><p>Scott was a master of playing head games. <em>I did learn from the best</em>, he thought savagely, remembering Jack’s escapades with Scott’s eyebeams. He just needed opportunity to play head games with Duncan, the host of this party, and he’d be in for a fun night. Fun for Scott, anyway. When, a few minutes later, Duncan and a few of his thuggish quarterback friends made a cut about his sunglasses, Scott just grinned broadly, ready to tell Duncan just where he could shove that comment of his, and he found himself clamming his mouth shut and walking out onto the balcony.</p><p>He wasn’t surprised to see Jean out there already, looking out over Duncan’s pool, her arms folded in icy rage.</p><p>“Scott, what are you doing? You said you’d be nice. Duncan isn’t that bad, you just won’t give him a chance,” she scolded, turning around.</p><p>“I don’t like it when you do that,” Scott muttered, opening and closing his mouth, as if to make sure it still worked.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have to do that if you’d just be <em>nice</em>!” Jean shot back, her hair flaring up slightly as she released energy without realizing it.</p><p>“I’ll be nice when he gets a brain,” Scott insisted, scowling. “He isn’t even civil to anyone outside his social circle. You can’t say <em>I</em> ever start a fight with <em>him</em>.”</p><p>“Duncan is a friend of mine, and I wish that you’d respect him,” Jean said quietly, and Scott could tell even now she was reigning in her dangerous temper so as to avoid releasing a TK blast that would do more than ruffle her hair.</p><p>“Respect is earned,” Scott spat, gesturing to Duncan. “He has done <em>nothing</em> to earn any from me.”</p><p>“He’s not as bad as you make him out to be,” Jean plead, trying to catch his eye, but their argument was forgotten as at that moment Duncan started loudly insulting Todd Tolansky, who had apparently party-crashed as well, sporting a brand-new pair of shoes and a clean shirt for the occasion, though his trademark ripped-at-the-knee jeans were as raggedy as ever.</p><p>Jean put her face in her hands as the phrase ‘disgusting little pukeball’ reached their ears. So much for her argument that Duncan was a decent person. Scott just sighed and started into the room, Jean following him.</p><p>“Back off, Duncan, he just crashed,” Scott called as he came within earshot.</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll go, yo. Just wanted to see the party, that’s all!” Todd insisted quickly, taking in the muscle of Duncan and his friends.</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do in my house, Summers,” Duncan said, scowling.</p><p>“I’d think you wanted to show a better face for half the school, Duncan,” Scott said, indicating the gathered circle of what surely seemed like the entire football team and cheerleaders, as well as the various familiar faces in the different clubs that Jean was a part of. “Insulting Tolansky for crashing when half the people here now weren’t issued invitations by you.”</p><p>“I have a right to kick out what’s not wanted,” Duncan growled, seizing Todd by the collar of his shirt. “It’s safe to say no one here invited him, even if it was invitation by word of mouth.”</p><p>“I resent that,” Todd started, but Scott talked over him.</p><p>“Wrong, Matthews; I invited him.”</p><p>“And who invited you, Summers? What’s with the shades, anyway –”</p><p>“I invited him, Duncan,” Jean said coolly, her arms folded at him now. Scott smirked.</p><p>At Jean’s statement, Duncan released Todd at once, and Todd straightened his shirt, scowling.</p><p>“Forget it, yo. This Toad’s outtie.” With that, Todd walked through the crowd, which parted easily for him, given his strong stench, and Jean took Scott’s arm.</p><p>“Come on, Scott, we know where we’re not wanted,” she said, following Todd as Duncan worked out how to react. On the one hand, Todd the living stinkbomb and Summers the shades-freak were leaving and that was good, but on the other hand, he liked Jean, and didn’t want her to leave. For the time-being, his choice stayed with the majority of his friends, deciding that the party would have to continue without them.</p><p>Scott, on the other hand, upon getting his wishes for the night fulfilled – namely being able to exchange choice words with Duncan and leaving the party – decided that he wasn’t angry with Jean anymore, and Jean, for her part, seemed to accept that Duncan had been acting like an ass. They walked in silence toward Scott’s car, and Jean stopped, looking up, and to her right, into the branches of a tree.</p><p>“Todd? Did you need a ride?” she asked the tree then, and Scott blinked a double take, barely making out the form of Todd Tolansky amongst the leaves.</p><p>“’S cool, yo. I’m jus’ chillin.’”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yeah. What’s up with you guys though?” he asked, as an afterthought. “I didn’t ask to be stuck up for. Why’d you do it?”</p><p>“It’s mean to just pick you out of all the people who’d crashed and insult you in front of everyone,” Jean said bluntly, sounding angry.</p><p>“So? It’s not like I ain’t heard it before. I ain’t stupid,” he said easily, hopping down from the tree with ease and straightening up. “An’ I can take care of myself, Summers,” he added, glancing up at Scott, who was a good two heads taller than he was.</p><p>“We’re not implying that –” Jean started, but Todd cut her off.</p><p>“Save it. Be a poster child. I don’t care. But if you want your secrets kept,” he said, grinning mysteriously, “Then you’d better try harder to keep ‘em secret. Ya get me?”</p><p>Jean and Scott’s mouths dropped open unanimously, staring blatantly at Todd, who, having had the last word, started leaping – not walking, <em>leaping</em> – toward a sturdy old car in the distance, getting in without another word.</p><hr/><p>Todd was getting chewed out again. Mystique really needed a new hobby. At his request, she’d come to Matthews’ party to pick him up, and at his request, she’d dropped him off in the first place, and apparently playing chaperone ‘wasn’t her thing.’</p><p>“Toad, didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?” she growled as he slid effortlessly into the back seat.</p><p>“Home, Jeeves,” Todd said, grinning, feeling good about what he’d said to Xavier’s kids.</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> your chauffeur, Toad! Get in the front seat!”</p><p>Todd slipped easily into the front seat without getting out of the car, and Mystique rolled her eyes.</p><p>“When do you get your license again?”</p><p>“Dunno, teach. I kinda failed Driver’s Ed, remember?”</p><p>“I thought I’d blackm—ah…taken care of – that already,” Mystique muttered, her knuckles tight on the wheel. She’d taken on the persona of Principal Darkholme, and Todd found it amusing for her to be acting like herself in the principal’s body. No forced honey in her voice, no negotiating, just Mystique, in all her scheming glory.</p><p>“Look on the bright side, teach!” Todd grinned. “You wouldn’t let me use your car anyway, right? And now we get to spend some quality time together! Teacher and student. Mother…figure…and son…figure.”</p><p>“Technicality,” she snapped, taking the curves that were the roads in Duncan’s ritzy neighborhood faster perhaps than was necessary.</p><p>“Ya know y’like me a little, yo,” Todd wheedled, starting to get used to her prickly nature. Not that it didn’t still scare him, but…</p><p>“The only thing I feel towards you at this moment is annoyance. You bring out a side of me…that needs coffee and asprin,” Mystique stated as they finally turned onto the main road.</p><p>“And strong liquor, right?”</p><p>“I don’t drink, Toad. How many times have I told you I don’t drink?”</p><p>“C’mon. I won’t tell anyone,” Todd said, smirking.</p><p>“For the love of – fine. Toad, I’ll explain it to you,” Mystique had pulled in front of the Boarding house, backing smartly onto the lawn beside the house.</p><p>Todd followed her eagerly into the house as she shut the door and shifted into her natural form.</p><p>“I’ve told you countless times, I don’t drink. I…I can’t drink,” Mystique looked annoyed again, and folded her arms.</p><p>“Right,” Todd said disbelievingly.</p><p>“Look, you little…Todd,” Mystique cut herself off lamely. Todd was just surprised that for the first time, she hadn’t called him ‘Toad’ of her own free will.</p><p>Todd opened his mouth to say something, but Mystique cut him off.</p><p>“My mutation is to shift my appearance. To change the patterns of my DNA to look like something else. If I want to shift into you, I’d need to burn off mass to become shorter – to sculpt a different bone structure and pigment of skin. If I wanted to copy you completely, it would take me a long time because I’d be sculpting new organs to go inside the new body. As it were, my shifting is cosmetic only, unless I need complete replication.”</p><p>Todd blinked. “You make it look so easy,” he muttered, realizing the toll it took on her to use her power. Just because she <em>could</em> do it didn’t mean it was easy.</p><p>“I’ve been doing this for years. Speed comes with practice, Todd,” her voice was snappish again, though she did again call him ‘Todd’ instead of ‘Toad’ which was still weird to him.</p><p>“So about the drinking jokes?” he prompted nervously.</p><p>“Use your brain, you imbecile! My body is in a state of chaos without the aid of alcohol, and I can’t stomach it.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Now get me an asprin and please leave my sight. I’m getting a migrane,” she said petulantly, pointing into the kitchen and sinking into the couch, her fingers massaging her temples.</p><p>Todd complied, though smirking at the thought of her rage when she realized she sent him away without understanding that he’d told Xavier’s mutants he knew they were mutants and revealed himself as well. She had enough to be getting on with, though. Let her heal her migraine and sleep while she had less stress. Tomorrow it would come back again tenfold and she’d need her rest!</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Mastery of your own mind is the first step to telepathy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A man is but the product of his thoughts; what he thinks, he becomes.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Be master of mind rather than mastered by mind”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Limits exist only in the mind”</em>
</p><p>“Jean, I didn’t recognize that last one.”</p><p>Jean opened her eyes, looking at the Professor sheepishly. “Anonoymous. Can’t remember where I read it.”</p><p>Xavier grinned. “The first one was mine, was it not? Then Ghandi, I believe?”</p><p>“I drifted off to fortune cookies after a while. Sorry about that, Professor.”</p><p>“No, no, you’re doing wonderfully. This is supposed to be our game for the day, is it not?”</p><p>Jean smiled. She didn’t play this game with even Scott. Her and Scott usually shared funny thoughts, or practiced shielding with a variation of the old game ‘three truths and a lie.’</p><p>Only she and Professor Xavier played this game. ‘Mind Quotes,’ Jean had lamely called it, before realizing the clever double meaning. The game was of course banter between their thoughts, naming quotes of famous people, but the quotes all had to be related to the mind in some way, and had to be legitimate. ‘Mind Quotes.’</p><p>“Should we call it a day then?”</p><p>Jean nodded, rubbing at her temples. They’d been playing for nearly an hour, and her mind felt supremely burnt out.</p><p>“I believe Mr. Summers wants a conference with you. He’s right outside the door.”</p><p>Jean grinned. She waved her hand to the door, and it opened gently, revealing Scott standing there, about to knock.</p><p>“Come on in,” Jean said unnecessarily, as Scott scowled at the pair of them.</p><p>“You know it creeps me out when you guys do that.”</p><p>“I know. That’s why it’s so fun,” Jean teased, standing up and ambling over to him. “You wanted to speak with me, I believe?”</p><p>“But what about –”</p><p>“We’re done for the day, Scott. No worries. Just go and do whatever it is you get up to these days.” Xavier steepled his fingers in unspoken confirmation of his statement; a gesture of finality, excusing them to leave the room. Scott nodded, looking to Jean and inclining his head to the door. Jean nodded, and the pair left Xavier to his devices.</p><p>Once a fair distance from the room, Scott grabbed Jean’s hand without preamble and started running.</p><p>“Scott? Where are we going?” she laughed, following his lead without hesitation.</p><p>Scott didn’t answer, just gave her a ‘you’ll see’ look over his shoulder. Their final destination lie outside the manor, and as they drew closer to the far side of the mansion, Jean started connecting the dots. She saw landscape, recently demolished, and most impressive, a large hole in the ground, nearly deep enough to stack 3 of Scott’s convertibles on top of each other.</p><p>“Scott, why are we at the pool?”</p><p>“Logan told me he’s leaving for a road trip next week. He wants finishing this pool and fixing the Danger Room to be top priority while he’s gone, and I think he was implying that he wanted everything running by the time he got back.”</p><p>“When’s he coming back?”</p><p>“He didn’t say.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“So we have to start work on the pool. I think Logan’s plan was that by fixing the Danger Room and finishing the pool we’d keep in shape while he was gone, but I don’t think he realized a few things.”</p><p>“What few things?”</p><p>“Your brain and my appreciation of spatial Geometry.”</p><p>“Come again?”</p><p>“Jean, you can figure out how to build a pool in nothing flat. I can control my beam to the point it won’t kill people. We have the manpower and the resources. And we can fix the wires in the Danger Room in our sleep.”</p><p>“This is true…” Jean mused, smirking.</p><p>“So I figure that once we get this crap done, all we’ll have to do this summer, besides your club stuff, is sessions with the Professor. We could do whatever we wanted!”</p><p>“Scott, that’s a great idea!”</p><p>“So…”</p><p>“So…what?”</p><p>“So…how do we build a pool?”</p><p>“You mean <em>now</em>?”</p><p>“What else are you doing? The Professor said your session was done, didn’t he?”</p><p>“But I had plans later –”</p><p>“—with Duncan right?” Scott interrupted Jean, the usual scowl registering on his features before it transformed miraculously into an evil grin. “All right. Duncan has a pool, right?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Come on! I bet his mind is teeming with forgotten knowledge about his pool!”</p><p>“I will not pick Duncan’s brain for your summer project.”</p><p>“He’s not going to use this knowledge! He doesn’t even use his brain! Come on!”</p><p>“Fine. I’ll go over and borrow the information, but you’d better appreciate my sacrifice.”</p><p>“You were going to go over there anyway!”</p><p>“Still.”</p><p>Jean grinned, to show she was kidding, and ambled inside, completely aware that Scott’s eyes were following her progress with a grin on his face that had nothing to do with the swimming pool.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Scott met Paul. A true Pre-Season 1 Bromance. Guys, I love Paul. And, you know, other stuff happens.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a lot of concrete. More construction than Xavier had bargained for, but his students were up to the challenge. With Scott’s planning, the swimming pool would likely be ready long before the summer break ended; long before even Xavier himself had calculated. Jean’s mental exercises with him were going beautifully; she was able to block what she wanted blocked, and keep up her own shields without as much effort as she normally used; She was an eager student, and her mind was readily adapting itself to the changes it was undergoing.</p><p>Not only that, but even without Logan’s tests and Ororo’s special training, Jean’s telekinetic abilities were flourishing. Xavier suspected it had everything to do with Scott, who would push her to do the manual labor needed for their pool project with her mind; not because he knowingly wanted her practicing, but because he feared the tasks would be too much for her otherwise.</p><p>For a young man as troubled as he had been, Scott Summers certainly knew how to care about others, Xavier mused, allowing himself a smile. The boy had opened up to Jean as he never had with anyone else, and Xavier liked to think that he was responsible for giving them that opportunity.</p><p><em>I mustn’t get a big head about this, however</em>, he scolded himself, wheeling to Cerebro for the third time that day. <em>There is a matter of other young mutants to consider</em>.</p><p>Putting on his helmet and focusing on the suburbs of Eastern New York City, Charles grinned as he focused on the new mutant signature. His machine had detected the use of powers there that didn’t match any records shown. The area was close to where Ororo had been visiting mere days before, and he just had to ask her to look for the signs. Who knew? Maybe her sister had finally manifested a gene. Heaven knew it would be a good idea for more adults to be brought on. For now, he’d just have to wait and see.</p>
<hr/><p>Todd Tolansky muttered under his breath as he walked towards the boarding house that served as his home. He was wearing a bright neon green shirt with bold black lettering on the back bearing the legend “Kevin’s Gymnastics Facility.”</p><p>“I’ll tell him who ‘lacks proper hygiene,” he was muttering, scuffing his shoes and not even bothering to hop as he usually did. “The place is meant to smell weird. It’s a gym. God.”</p><p>He dejectedly looked at the papers in his hand; a check for thirty dollars and a note of dismissal that read thus:</p><p>
  <em>Mr. Tolansky,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>While it is not usually our policy to cut back during the busy season, we feel that your attitude, your habit of swearing in front of the customers, and your general lack of proper hygiene are not appropriate for your post as an hourly associate of Kevin’s Gymnastics Facility. We would be most pleased to make recommendations to other places of business, as your abilities are astonishing, but until such a time as you can come in full preparedness for the jobs assigned you, we feel any recommendations made will fall on deaf ears. Please come back to us when you are up to changing your habits for the better!</em>
</p><p>
  <em> – Kevin Langland and Staff.</em>
</p><p>It’s not that he <em>meant</em> to smell weird, any more than he <em>meant</em> to be a mutant. He felt more at ease when he had a coat or two of dirt on him. “I don’t need that job anyway,” he told himself, finally crumpling the paper into a ball and breaking into a hop. “I got other ways of getting cash.”</p><p>He grinned, stuffing the check into his pocket, ditching the work shirt, under which he wore over his regular, more comfortable shirt, and changing direction to the school football field. School didn’t start for more than a month and a half, and here was the coach, running his little drones ragged in preparation for their first game, which didn’t take place until the week before school. And all those poor jocks, with no locker room to change in, had left their sports bags on the bleachers just for Todd to ransack through. How nice of them.</p>
<hr/><p>Scott Summers was unsure of what he should do. Standing in the living room of Duncan’s house yet again, cringing at the volume of the sound that some would call music that emanated from the enormous speakers, he decided that he had been in this very predicament far too many times for his taste. In fact, he reasoned, he’d come to the last party with Jean, and the one before that, <em>and</em> the one before that (How many occasions could Duncan come up with to throw parties for anyway?) and thusly, he should be exempt from ever having to go to another party of Duncan’s <em>ever</em>.</p><p>Unfortunately, at that moment, he looked over the din, locating Jean right away, laughing with her soccer friends (or were they her photography friends?  He couldn’t keep track of them all…), and he sighed. He couldn’t make this argument with her. Look how happy she was. No, he’d let himself be dragged to as many parties as she made him crash because, frankly, she could lead him to the ends of the earth and he wouldn’t care.</p><p>“THEY CALL THIS MUSIC?!”</p><p>Scott looked at the source of the voice; a familiar face that he couldn’t place a name with. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”</p><p>“I SAID, ‘HOW CAN THEY CALL THIS MUSIC?!’”</p><p>“I KNOW!! IT’S AWFUL!!!”</p><p>“WHAT?!”</p><p>Instead of repeating himself again, Scott pointed to the darker corners of the room, where there were punch bowls and cookies, and the odd senior couples making out. The other boy nodded, and Scott lead the way to the table, taking a cookie and sniffing it cautiously.</p><p>“Have these clowns ever heard of good music?” the guy said good naturedly, grabbing a cup, then looking doubtfully at the punch, and opting for a cookie too.</p><p>“I know! Whoever decided that the vocals had to be louder than the baseline should be shot!”</p><p>“You’re Scott, right? From Xavier’s?” The guy took a bite of his cookie, putting his hands over his ears as if to block the music.</p><p>“Yeah…I’m sorry, I forget your name…” Scott grinned sheepishly, adjusting his sunglasses.</p><p>“Paul. We had Geometry together.”</p><p>“Yes! The Geometry tutoring session from Hell.”</p><p>Paul laughed, finishing his cookie and going for another. He seemed to prefer the oatmeal raisin kind for reasons Scott couldn’t fathom. “We weren’t that bad, were we?”</p><p>“Let’s just say I hope I get skipped to Calculus with the smart kids,” Scott said, grinning to show he was (partially) kidding.</p><p>“So what are you in for?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’ve been coming to these parties and you clearly don’t enjoy them…I only come so I can keep the moron football team off the road…why are you here?” Paul was merely curious, not condescending…at least, Scott hoped so…</p><p>“Well, Duncan Matthews and I don’t exactly get along, but I just can’t say no to Jean when she asks for the ride.”</p><p>“Jean Grey? You know her?”</p><p>Scott quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, she’s boarding at Xavier’s with me.”</p><p>“I feel utter jealously right now! Are you two going out?” Paul smirked and went again for an oatmeal raisin cookie.</p><p>“What? Me and Jean? No way! We’re just friends.”</p><p>“That’s cool.”</p><p>And Scott could tell that Paul wasn’t going to heckle him about it like so many others had. He could tell that Paul was pretty sincere about everything, and Paul really seemed to believe that he and Jean were just friends. And that made him smile as they joked some more about the music, the football team members making fools of themselves with each glass of punch they consumed, and Paul continuing to eat the entire stock of oatmeal raisin cookies.</p>
<hr/><p>Jean was quickly getting bored. The music had grown monotonous and loud, she didn’t recognize a lot of the seniors who had just come to make out on Duncan’s couches, most of her friends had succumbed to the influence of the spiked punch (the few friends who hadn’t gotten punch were on the soccer team and wouldn’t touch the stuff, and they’d gone home), she couldn’t find Scott anywhere – which was surprising in and of itself because he was usually hanging off her arm begging to go home when they’d only been there 20 minutes – and had that guy just pinched her butt?!</p><p>She found a shadowed corner where the music didn’t reverberate through her eardrums, and ignoring the couple a few feet away from her (they seemed distracted anyway) she went through a mental workout, first deadening her ears to the sound of the music (some leaked through anyway, but she attributed this to the fact that she hadn’t learned how to do this sort of thing, she’d picked it up from Ororo’s mind…by accident, of course…), and then she tried to call out to Scott. She couldn’t find him right away. His strong mental shields aside; there were just too many people for her to sort out his particular mind.</p><p>She concentrated harder, smiling as the music finally stopped thumping in her ears. Unable to lock on to his mind, she had opted to find him through others’ eyes. It was unbelievable, borrowing the optic senses of another person. It was like she was a ghost, possessing these people until she got what she needed. The chilling thought occurred to her that she hadn’t known she could do this: she hadn’t been instructed how to do so by Xavier or anyone else. Her mind was starting to pick up on this telepathy thing really fast, and she hoped that just relying instinctively on her powers would be all right when she started doing things without knowing how she did them.</p><p>She finally saw Scott. He was talking with…wait, wasn’t Paul in her English class? She eased out of his subconscious, coming back to herself and opening her eyes. The whole process hadn’t taken a minute. She walked purposefully toward the punch bowl, where Scott was talking about some sort of sci-fi show and Paul was just nodding, taking it in.</p><p>“Um, Scott?” Jean said pointedly when neither boy noticed her.</p><p>“Oh, hi,” Scott said, turning to her and smiling. “Paul, this is Jean. Jean, Paul.”</p><p>“Hey Jean. How’s Julius Caesar coming?”</p><p>Jean smiled. “It’s getting there. I don’t like the memorization though. ‘Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.’”</p><p>Paul reached absently for an oatmeal raisin cookie, his face changing when he looked over and realized that they were all gone. “Bummer! No more cookies!”</p><p>“Yeah, Paul, you just ate them all,” Scott said, smiling and biting into his own snickerdoodle.</p><p>“No, I couldn’t have.”</p><p>“Dude, who else eats oatmeal raisin?”</p><p>“Well, I gotta make my rounds anyway. See ya in Geometry tomorrow, Scott!”</p><p>Scott waved, grinning, and Jean looked curiously after Paul as he pulled the arm of one of the football players over his shoulder and guided him to the door.</p><p>“What’s he doing?”</p><p>“He’s making sure these goons don’t drive themselves home,” Scott said, pulling his own keys out of his pocket. “Ready to go?”</p><p>Jean just smiled, nodding and following his lead, listening as he filled her in on what he and Paul had been talking about. She felt a mixture of things, as she buckled into the convertible; mainly a deep sense of happiness for Scott who had finally decided to make some friends at last, and a sense of relief that she couldn’t explain that he hadn’t been with another girl when she found him.</p>
<hr/><p>Logan sighed in contentment as he slipped into an old and familiar café; a clean, respectable little place in the middle of nowhere. He’d come here a fair few times when he was on errands for Xavier, and the bartender remembered him; gave him a free drink every once in a while. Good guy.</p><p>Just as he was sitting down, ready to order his regular sandwich, he smelled something…off. At first he almost dismissed it for the drunken regulars at the booth, but then he chanced a glance around the place; there was a girl there that he hadn’t noticed before. She was absently stirring a small coffee, and looking out the window. She was definitely younger – maybe thirteen – she looked the type to bury herself in a book if there wasn’t anything more interesting to do, but she seemed to find the view out the window fascinating.</p><p>Logan didn’t know why he was spending so much time observing this girl – all the hint he got was a weird scent that seemed to come from her. She was blonde, and a cute kid, but she wore no make-up, and she had no product in her hair (None that Logan’s nose could catch, anyway). She looked over and caught Logan’s eye then; she seemed surprised that he was looking at her.</p><p>Logan felt his heart pounding hard, and for no reason he could think of; he took a swig of his drink – had he even ordered yet? Or had the bartender just given him the mug, knowing that’s what he’d get? – He was growing steadily more suspicious of that scent that seemed to get stronger –</p><p>“Laurie?”</p><p>The voice came from behind him; an older woman – the girl’s mother? – came and sat across from the girl, taking her hands and whispering for her to calm down – Logan started to understand as his own heart slowed to a more regular beat. He had his suspicions that this girl – Laurie? – had something to do with the random adrenaline rush.</p><p>He drained the rest of his mug, rummaging in his pocket – not for keys or a tip, but for one of those damned cards Xavier was always giving him...Finally finding one, he smoothed it out best he could, and asked the bartender to get him a pen. The man just smiled, reaching for the pencil behind his ear.</p><p>Logan thanked him, scribbling something on the back, and getting up. The girl and her mother were leaving; the girl looked over at him, and Logan felt another attack of fear as his heartbeat sped up – he shook his head, trying to clear out the scent she gave off, and he gave the card to the girl’s mother.</p><p>“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously, not even looking at the card he’d pressed in her palm.</p><p>“Someone who might be able to help you somewhere down the line. Ma’am,” with that, he tipped his hat, and opened the door for her.</p><p>“An’ Chuck says I never do anything for him,” Logan muttered, going back to the bar and ordering his sandwich.</p>
<hr/><p>The girl, meanwhile, looked back in at the café from her place in the car next to her mother.</p><p>“What did the card say?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“The card he gave you.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>The woman pulled it out of her pocket, looking at it. “It’s just a business card for a private school in New York.”</p><p>The girl beamed. “I’ve never been to New York!”</p><p>“Laurie, calm down, please,” her mother said absently, wondering where she’d heard the name Charles Xavier before.</p><p>The girl, Laurie, immediately took a calming breath, keeping her enthusiasm reigned.</p><p>“Please work on that, hon.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Laurie apologized, trying to keep her emotions in check.</p><p>Laurie’s mother suddenly started to laugh – Laurie had to remind herself that her mother was immune to whatever it was that Laurie could do, and then she calmly tucked her hair behind her ears. “What, mom?”</p><p>Laurie’s mother just handed the card to her, starting the car and backing out of the slot, they had quite a few more miles to go before any sort of hotel or gas station, and Laurie had to work harder to keep her emotions in her control after reading what the man had written:</p><p><em>Neat trick. If it’s control you want, stop by. You’re just the kind of gifted youngster we recruit</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Kurt Wagner had checked and re-checked the answers on the sheet. He had consulted the book. He had asked his mother to check it for him. It all simply confirmed that he had officially grasped the English language. Not mastered it, no, but he’d grasped enough of it to be able to carry on a conversation on most subjects. When he finally realized it wasn’t a fluke, he had celebrated by jumping up and down – that hadn’t been enough, so he’d concentrated, disappearing in a flash to the middle of the woods, yelling exuberantly in both English and German that he was the master of the universe. That had felt a little better, so he’d concentrated and re-appeared in his house.</p><p>“Kurtie vere you there a moment before?”</p><p>“<em>Nein. Ich verschwand</em>.”</p><p>“It isn’t disappearing, Kurttie, remember?”</p><p>“<em>Was ist es dann</em>?”</p><p>“English Kurtie.”</p><p>Kurt grinned at her. “Vat is it called, to disappear, <em>Mutti</em>?”</p><p>Kurt’s mother looked properly impressed by his speed in answering; she was so used to him looking at her in exasperation when he realized he didn’t understand her. Then she grinned. “<em>Übergangsbewegung.</em>”</p><p>Kurt’s smug face changed to concentration. “Transitional movement? Like music?”</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>,” urged Kurt’s mother, forgetting to speak in English. “<em>Zustimmst du nicht</em>?”</p><p>Kurt grinned. “Yes. I like it. Transitional movement.”</p><p>Kurt went to his dictionary, looking up the English words. He was surprised at the number of words listed as synonyms for Transition; change, shift, move, evolve, transfer…He busied himself looking up ways to describe what he could do. His mother left him to his word games, saying something about a pot of soup that was getting cold.</p><p>Kurt got lost in what he was doing – the word <em>Transfer</em> had a special section on mind tricks – thought transfer was also called ESP, or telepathy. Looking up the etymology of the word – why did all English words have Latin or Greek in them? – <em>tele</em> meant far, <em>path </em>meant feeling. One who could feel the thoughts of a mind far from their own, then? That was a word Professor Xavier had used…but he’d gotten off track.</p><p>It was more than disappearing …perhaps he’d been looking up the wrong word. It was nearly an hour before he found a suitable word to present to his mother – it had no German translation, and so Kurt had to present it to her using all the books he’d looked in, and she rewarded him with a new scarf she’d made for him. The word combined two words that he’d painstakingly reasearched: <em>weit</em> and <em>tragen. </em>Translated into English, <em>weit</em> meant far, and <em>tragen</em> meant carry. The old word for far was Greek: tele; and the word for carry was French: port.</p><p>Thusly, he didn’t disappear, or shift, or transfer…he teleported. Kurt felt then, for the first time, a pride in himself for being able to do this work: to translate, and to understand English, even if it was still harder than German. He continued his research, though it was no longer research, but a point of curiousity and interest for him now. Who said he couldn’t find his homework fun?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More adventures with Jean, Scott, and Paul! Lots of pictures being taken! And much, much sunburn!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scott was immeasurably glad for Paul’s company the day a package arrived for Jean. It was a certain camera that she had ordered for a certain yearbook, and a certain redhead seemed to meld said camera to her fingers the instant it came. She took pictures of everything. Everything. The worm on the sidewalk. The fruit bowl by the staircase. The buttons in the elevator. The all-but-finished swimming pool. And Paul. And Scott. And the Professor. And Ororo (once she’d finally returned from her extended stay in the city). And Scott. And the pool table. And Scott. And the TV in the rec room. And Scott. She insisted with each picture she took that it wasn’t right. The lighting. The background. She was after the perfect picture. And she was relentless.</p><p>This is where Paul came in. Paul had his own summer goal that involved Scott – to bring him up-to-date on the latest TV shows (none of which Scott had ever seen), and consequently, Scott found himself asking a lot of permission for Paul to come to the Institute’s rec-room to watch piles upon piles of the earlier seasons of the shows that had been rented from the video store. Why the Institute? Scott had outlined the reasons to the professor many times:</p><p>Reason One) the fact that Paul was a good friend of his, and why shouldn’t he be allowed to come over, and was the Professor implying a sort of prejudice of Paul and his non-mutant genes?</p><p>Reason Two) the fact that Paul was another pair of hands to help out with any chores and/or building of the swimming pool (that was less labor hours for himself and Jean).</p><p>Finally there was Reason Three) the fact that the air-conditioner at Paul’s house was broken, and New York summer at 30% humidity (and rising every day!) was the trumping factor in this whole equation.</p><p>The latter weeks of summer vacation, therefore, found Scott and Paul rotting on the couch in the rec-room while Jean pestered them about the pool. <em>Easy for her to say</em>, Scott found himself thinking as Jean sauntered into the rec-room with the familiar calls of “hold still” and “okay, smile!” <em>She’s grown up with this heat. I never thought I’d miss Alaska!</em> As the pool was closer to completion, Jean would come and stand in front of the TV until the boys would get up. Venturing outside was a chore. Jean just broke out the sunscreen and told Scott to stop being such a baby. Paul was a good sport about it, most of the time; the most grumbling he did was the day they had to install the diving board, and even then it was good-natured grumbling.</p><p>“Come on, Scott, smile for me! Please?”</p><p>Scott smiled obediently, but Jean shrieked indignantly the second the flash illuminated him.</p><p>“Paul, you ruined it!”</p><p>Paul snickered, and Scott joined in as he realized the bunny fingers Paul had been holding up behind his head.</p><p>As Paul busied himself changing the disc to an old rerun of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Jean glowered at Scott.</p><p><em>You know what it is, don’t you?</em> She thought at him irritably.</p><p><strong><em>What?</em></strong> Scott challenged, folding his arms.</p><p>
  <em>Your glasses. I can’t take a proper picture of you with your sunglasses on.</em>
</p><p>Scott heaved an audible sigh, earning a strange look from Paul. <strong><em>I’ll take them off just for your camera then, okay?</em></strong></p><p>Jean wrapped her arms protectively around the camera and stuck her tongue out at him.</p><p>“Okay, this is the episode after the introduction of the Babel Fish,” Paul said, settling himself back on the couch. “I still can’t believe you never saw these. What kind of rock did you live under?”</p><p>Scott reddened, muttering something about never having had a TV, and Jean jumped in, asking about the show, saying her mother hadn’t approved of Douglas Adams. Scott shot a grateful look, and she just glanced sideways at him and winked as Paul launched into a long-winded explanation about the plot of the series so far, and the importance of Arthur Dent’s bath towel.</p><p>It was for this reason that Scott allowed Jean to drag them outside a full two episodes early to work on the pool, even though the heat was still in the upper nineties at 45% humidity and the shade cast by the trees was too scant to take refuge in. Jean hopped cheerfully into the enormous hole that was the pool, immediately taking a picture of the finished side.</p><p>“I helped my uncle with his pool,” Paul was saying, peeling off his shirt, lowering himself into the hole and glancing around, “But he didn’t get his this deep, or this <em>smooth</em>.” He ran his hand up the wall of dirt that they had yet to line with metal or cement. “It’s like someone just nuked it into being, you know? That Professor guy must really be rich to hire a construction team that good.”</p><p>Scott smiled nervously, adjusting his sunglasses. “Yeah, it’s crazy, huh? Um, Jean, do you want to get the poles for the frame?”</p><p>And so their work went, Jean surreptitiously using her telekinesis, much to Scott’s annoyance when he caught her; they took a break, lunging for the shade of the nearest tree, and Scott finally succumbed to the heat, taking off his own shirt, guzzling water like he’d never have it again. Jean just took the pictures as Paul chose that moment to pour the rest of his own water bottle on Scott’s head.</p><p>They chatted idly about different things, and when Paul had to leave, they were confident that one more week of work would finish their pool once and for all. Paul even joked that in the absence of a summer project, maybe they could start building a pool in <em>his</em> yard, being pros at it by now, but then his questioning turned to the construction team the Professor had hired to get this amazing depth and circumference for the pool, and Jean intervened, snapping a picture of the group, and the construction was forgotten. Paul started to climb out of the hole and slipped, lightly nicking his arm on a piece of protruding metal from the concrete they’d laid the week before.</p><p>“Ouch!”</p><p>“Paul, you okay?” Scott trotted over, thinking his arm had been cut, but there wasn’t an injury. Not even the shallowest of scratches.</p><p>“Man, that hurt,” Paul muttered, looking in confusion at his arm.</p><p>Jean came over, lowering her camera, and at her light touch on his shoulder, Paul howled in pain.</p><p>“Paul, are you all right?” she asked worriedly, and Scott shot a glance at her. Jean, though, started to connect the dots, and she prodded Scott’s chest, smirking when he yelped in shock and ran his fingers lightly over the area she’d touched – he started to realize it too. It was Paul who said it aloud –</p><p>“Dude! Didn’t we put on sunscreen?”</p><p>Scott thought, and realized that they hadn’t. He moaned, smacking his own head in his stupidity and immediately hissing in pain – they’d been sunburned. Jean giggled demurely, lifting her camera to her face once more.</p><p>“Hey, why aren’t you sunburned then?” Paul asked, after poking her shoulder and getting no response.</p><p>“I'm a redhead. <em>I</em> wore sunscreen,” Jean said simply, grinning and poking him back, laughing aloud at his overzealous attempts to avoid her touch at all.</p><p>And so Paul had to call his parents to come and get him, not able to drive himself home with the stiffness in his shoulders, and Scott was cursing the second he’d taken his shirt off, and deciding he really didn’t like summer at all.</p><p>But when Jean took pity on him, applying a soothing medicinal cream to his back with the lightest of touch, and putting her camera away so that they could finish watching Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Which Jean really hadn’t seen, it turned out), and when she helped him switch out his glasses for his goggles when they decided to call it a night, Scott started to reconsider his hatred. And when she asked his permission to put a psychic damp on his pain to help him get to sleep, he agreed only too happily, glad that if he had to get a sunburn that Jean was nice enough to help him out.</p><p>His final thought before drifting off was a happy recollection of the way she’d applied the cream, and the casual way she’d brushed his hair out of his eyes when she’d switched the goggles…a confirmation that yes, he had it bad, but who really cared anyway?</p><hr/><p>Jean was a happy camper come August. She’d put together a collage of photos that she’d taken over the summer, and the yearbook president was thrilled. (She particularly enjoyed the shirtless and sunburned Paul and Scott.) What made it all the funnier was the fact that a week after their sunburn had faded, and they were relishing in the (finally) completed pool (a gift of sympathy, Jean suspected, from Professor X), history repeated itself. Paul and Scott forgot to wear sunscreen as they swam. And they both got sunburned. Again. This is why, on September first, Scott allowed Jean to drive him to school.</p><p>It wasn’t so bad, Jean decided, settling into her first class, lining her new notebooks up on her desk. She’d already been complimented on her new outfit by five different people, been told she’d be a shoo-in for homecoming royalty in a few weeks, and been asked out to dinner on Friday night by the third-string quarterback for the Hawks, named Trent. (She’d politely declined, as he was at least 2 feet shorter than her, and she suspected he’d only asked her out on a dare)</p><p>Duncan, though, had made it a point to talk to her, and Jean secretly thought that it was his own way of “forgiving her” for skipping out on the rest of his parties. She wasn’t ready to deal with him, though, and had pointedly been quite cold with him. <em>Scott would be so proud</em>, she’d thought sardonically, commenting on the new hair-cut of a girl who’d sat behind her in her English class last semester.</p><p>Upon talking these points with Scott at their next class (Geology) however, Scott, feeling particularly cranky and cynical because of his sunburn, went on a rant about the homecoming game, the week prior to it, and voting for the royalty being a completely rigged ordeal, and an abominable tradition besides, making those who weren’t chosen feel inferior to those who were…and by the end of it, Jean, feeling somewhat cranky herself, didn’t want to go to the dance anymore, let alone be voted queen of it.</p><p>“Why did you bring it up, anyway?” Scott interjected, scowling.</p><p>“No reason,” Jean muttered, powering off her camera as class began. Scott, though, seemed curious, and as Mr. Rededski started writing his name on the board for those who didn’t know him, wrote his own message on his notebook, pushing it painstakingly over to her.</p><p>
  <em>What’s up? </em>
</p><p>Jean read his cramped writing, smirked, and then scribbled her reply quickly, pushing it carefully over to him.</p><p>
  <em>It’s not a big deal, I was asked to do the homecoming game for photography, that’s all.</em>
</p><p>This was true, to a point. Jean <em>had</em> been asked to cover all of the basketball games, and after the president had seen the picture of the sunburned chests of Paul and Scott, she had thrown in the homecoming game, but she hadn’t brought up homecoming because of that.</p><p>
  <em>That’s not why you brought it up, and you know it. </em>
</p><p>Jean glanced at his reply, her eyes wide in surprise. It’s like he’d been reading her mind. <em>Here I thought </em>I<em> was the mind-reader</em>, she mused, penning her next comment thoughtfully.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe not, but your reception of the whole ‘abominable tradition’ doesn’t put me in a mood to be truthful.</em>
</p><p>“…and who knows what Geology means?” drifted Mr. Rededski’s voice into their world. Jean raised her hand as Scott wrote furiously into his notebook.</p><p>“It’s the study of rocks,” she said confidently. Mr. Rededski flashed a smile.</p><p>“Correct, Miss Grey. Now who can tell me what this type of rock is called?” Mr. Rededski turned to write on the board, and Jean took the opportunity to read Scott’s comment, which had been written in haste, and was much messier than his previous cramped lettering.</p><p>
  <em>Excuse me for living! Snappy much?</em>
</p><p><em>Cranky much?</em> Jean shot back, sliding the notebook back his way.</p><p>
  <em>I just wanted to know why you brought it up. Sorry for being curious, I wasn’t aware that wanting answers was a sin.</em>
</p><p>Jean read this last in amusement, almost unable to decipher it. Oddly, as he got angrier at her, she only thought it was funny. She took her sweet time writing back, answering two more of Mr. Rededski’s questions before scrawling a lazy reply.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I wanted to go.</em>
</p><p>She nearly laughed aloud as Scott furiously continued to pen a hearty paragraph of what exactly he thought of that – she volunteered herself and Scott to join the Geology club when Mr. Rededski asked, she wrote down the homework for the next two classes as it was projected from Mr. Rededski’s mind, and she got a textbook for herself, taking the liberty of signing Scott’s name for him and picking one up, plunking it down on his desk as he finished his furious assault with a vicious exclamation point, shoving it over to her to the point that he gasped in pain as the skin on his shoulders stretched from his movement, irritating his sunburn.</p><p>She didn’t even read it; she made a show of flipping the page and writing her say, pushing it in his nose, and watching his face go scarlet.</p><p>
  <em>– With you.</em>
</p><p>As the bell rung to signal the end of class, Scott was still sitting in a stupor, and it took Jean bodily hauling him from his chair to get him moving at all. Once mobile, he started stuttering apologies to her for being so rude, insisting that it was his bad mood talking, saying that he never in a million years would have entertained the notion that she’d pick him to go with when she had so many other friends – at which point she’d smacked him, telling him not to be silly, and had to immediately apologize as he gasped in pain from her hitting his sunburn – and all in all, Jean was back to feeling pretty good. Until Lunch.</p><p>She’d just dropped off lunches for Paul and Scott, (They’d given her their undying gratitude, offering her portions of their questionable dessert) and went to get her own, realizing that her lunch money was in her locker. She headed that direction, powering up her camera and snapping pictures along the way, of students, posing ridiculously, smiling falsely, or making out with their boyfriends/girlfriends, not caring that she took their picture. All was well, until she decided to photograph a pretty blonde girl who wouldn’t have it.</p><p>“No pictures, please,” she said, putting her hand over the lens and lowering the camera from Jean’s eye.</p><p>Jean, surprised, held it up again. “It’s for the yearbook,” she said coaxingly, smiling. “It might not even make it in, but it would be a fun ‘back to school’ shot if they needed –”</p><p>“And I have a constitutional right, as it were, to tell you to back the hell off,” she interrupted, shoving the camera away from herself, glaring at Jean and stalking off.</p><p>It came suddenly – Upon Jean thinking an innocent thought – <em>What’s her problem?</em> – The powerful force that was her formidable mind pried the answer from the girl’s subconscious mind. The thoughts were jumbled, several sentences being spoken at once. When Jean finally had the sense to slam her mental shields higher into place, it was too late to reverse the damage done by her roving mind; Jean had those jumbled thoughts burned into her memory.</p><p>She felt grateful then – immeasurably grateful – to have a father like Jonathan Grey; he was a hard worker, and a good man. Katy Willows hadn’t had a father like Jonathan Grey, and had spent many years seeing a therapist about her deep-rooted hatred of all kinds of cameras, flashing lights, and even camcorders.</p><p>She was jolted out of her thoughts by a girl she recognized from her Math class. Linda? Linda smiled at her, putting her hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Hey, Jean; I heard the whole thing.”</p><p>Jean had to remind herself that Linda couldn’t read minds. <em>She means the spoken conversation</em>, she chided herself.</p><p>“Don’t feel too bad, Katy’s mean to everyone on the yearbook staff. She really hates having her picture taken though, so just leave it alone, all right?”</p><p>Jean nodded absently, standing up and shakily spinning the dial on her locker to its proper combination, sticking her camera inside and grabbing the money that she’d come for in the first place. Linda walked back with her to the lunchroom, where they parted ways, Jean making her way to Paul and Scott’s table, where she picked at the food on Scott’s tray, suddenly not feeling too hungry anymore.</p><hr/><p>Todd was bored. He had realized all-too-quickly that school could be a very monotonous thing, and had further realized that he couldn’t liven things up without Mystique having a coronary. She didn’t, however, object to his tendency to leave campus for lunch, even though she had to know that he wasn’t likely to come back afterwards, and thus, he found himself counting the minutes until his second class ended, and was in an internal struggle as to go to lunch, or just go home and raid the fridge.</p><p>Given that the entire football wanted his head on a lunch tray, he decided against going to lunch. He supposed that Duncan and his cronies had realized they were short on cash, and he’d been careless, letting himself be seen hanging around the football field when he had no reason to be there. Hopping out the window at a height most would be squeamish about; Todd trudged slowly to the edge of the school, and then broke into a hop.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing with himself. After the incident at Duncan’s, and Mystique’s revelation that Summers and perfect Jean Grey were mutants, nothing worth note had happened. She’d gotten over that cold, at least. If it was scary having her around <em>without</em> the cold, it was worse having her around with it.</p><p>He supposed he should be training or something. But for what? He was starting to feel jilted. Mystique had promised him a place in the new world order, where it would be heaven on earth. So far all he’d gotten was grief about his (poor) grades and his tendencies to use his powers in public. What did he care? Honestly? It wasn’t like <em>not</em> using his powers did him any good.</p><p>She spent all of her time complaining about and obsessing over Xavier’s computer-whatsit. She wanted to steal it for herself, but at the same time, she seemed to be reluctant to do so without preparation. She seemed wary of the little mansion on the hill. Todd thought it was stupid. What good would a computer do? He used the school computers for games. Maybe he’d listen to music every once in a while, but other than that, computers were too complicated. Mystique had found him, hadn’t she? Why not do the same thing to find some other mutant?</p><p>Todd decided his life needed some major changes. He wasn’t supposed to be bored. If he wanted to be bored, he’d have stuck it out with that lame foster family in Brooklyn. What did this boring town of Bayville need? Certainly it could use a little excitement. And that’s exactly what Todd intended to put his efforts into.</p><hr/><p>Scott didn’t intend to move for the rest of his life. (Or until his sunburn stopped hurting when he moved, which, he conceded, would most likely happen before his death.) He lay on the floor of the Mansion’s kitchen, better to feel the air-conditioner through its vent on the floor, and he had a fan circulating the stagnant, lukewarm air above him. Seeing the way Paul had gingerly gotten into his parents’ car, the poor guy wasn’t faring any better.</p><p>Paul, though, wasn’t foremost on Scott’s mind. Jean had been acting oddly since lunch, and when he’d tried to direct his mental concern in her direction, she hadn’t even glanced his way. He’d had to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention, and even then, she was occupied, he could tell. Upon getting home, she’d holed herself up in her room, muttering about the psi-shielding and leaving Scott to his own devices.</p><p>Xavier had told them to expect a briefing on some mission or other later, but it was only 3:00. He still had plenty of time in his nice homemade igloo. He was dismayed when Ororo finally found him.</p><p>“Scott, what is it exactly that you are doing?” she asked slowly, obviously quite confused by the sight of her shirtless student lying on the floor under a fan.</p><p>“I have a good hour and a half before the briefing, and I intend to spend it here,” he said stubbornly, ignoring the confused look she shot him.</p><p>“That’s all well and fine, Scott, but what exactly <em>are</em> you doing here?”</p><p>“Ultimately exploiting the vast fortune of Professor Xavier’s by using his super-air-conditioner as a weapon against the evils of nature.”</p><p>“You…were sunburned?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“One could call it karma, I suppose…”</p><p>“What?” Scott snapped his head around to look at her, hissing in pain at the straining skin on his neck.</p><p>“Using that pool of yours so much, and not even waiting for the one person who could have ultimately prevented your sunburn…”</p><p>Scott’s face suddenly dawned in comprehension and he made a sound of defeat. “I didn’t even think of that! I’m sorry, Ororo. We were just so excited to finally finish the pool…”</p><p>“It’s quite all right. I am surprised, though, that Jean hasn’t been helping you with the pain…”</p><p>“She’s been acting weird. She’s holed up in her room, and she won’t talk to me. I’d take a more active role in getting her to open the door, but I’m not in the best shape, if you know what I mean. So I decided to leave her to her own devices.”</p><p>Ororo nodded. “I’ll go talk to her. I’ll bring back some lotion for your back, shall I?”</p><p>“It would be much appreciated.”</p><p>Ororo nodded again, and left the room. Scott could have drifted off right then, but he was so cold…but so hot at the same time…he hated having sunburn.</p><hr/><p>Ororo tapped gently on Jean’s door, knowing that Jean would hear it. “Jean?” she tried, calling softly through the door. “I’m back from New York…I wondered if you wanted to talk…Scott said you’d been acting oddly.”</p><p>“I’m staying here,” came the stubborn reply. “There’s shielding in here, and I can’t hurt anyone but myself.”</p><p>“Did something happen?” Ororo asked, suddenly sounding concerned. She pushed harder on the door, surprised that the handle would turn, but that she still couldn’t get the door open…Jean must have had something blocking it…</p><p>“Yes and no,” Jean said evasively. There was no indication that she had moved at all to open the door for her teacher.</p><p>“Please let me in,” Ororo said then, pushing harder on the door and grunting in surprise when it didn’t even budge an inch. What had she put in front of this door?</p><p>“I want to stay in here,” Jean called, though she sounded less sure.</p><p>“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Ororo insisted, throwing her shoulder into the door, rewarded only with a throbbing pain that resonated through to her core. She was surprised when Jean popped her head out, opening the door wider – hadn’t Ororo just tried that?</p><p>“Come in, I could use advice,” Jean admitted, and Ororo stepped in, the questions being answered as she beheld the large pile of junk to the side of the door – Jean must have piled it there, and just taken it off with her telekinesis.</p><p>“The control you have over your powers is impressive,” Ororo started, but Jean cut her off.</p><p>“Like the amazing control I had today? It was like I hadn’t been training at all!”</p><p>Ororo sat on Jean’s bed, neatly folding her hands in her lap. “Perhaps you should tell me what happened,” she said calmly.</p><p>Jean exhaled and sat down next to her, though not as gracefully. She pulled her legs up with her, sitting perpendicularly to Ororo’s position, folding her legs Indian style. “There was this girl.”</p><p>Ororo nodded, to show she was listening.</p><p>“I wanted to take her picture, but she wouldn’t let me, which was fine, but I just wondered to myself about it. I thought to myself how strange it was that she wouldn’t let me take a picture, and suddenly I was in her head!”</p><p>Ororo said nothing as Jean gesticulated wildly, as if to properly convey the hurricane her thoughts must have been through.</p><p>“It was like I was seeing the documentary of her life in fast-forward! And all the thoughts were speaking at once, and there were all these memories that she’d blocked off…It was <em>horrible</em>, Ororo! Why–” she looked Ororo in the eye, all seriousness. “<em>Why</em> would someone do that to a little girl? Anyone? Let alone her own <em>father</em>,” she spat the word in disgust. “She’s <em>still</em> afraid! Because of what she was subjected to when she was young, she <em>still</em> hates having her picture taken. When her mother found out, she took the dad to court. She had to have her testimony recorded on video because she was so young. But the video-recorder looked so much like her father’s camera…” Jean shook her head. “I did this a lot before. When my telepathy <em>really</em> started acting up, before I came here…I would just <em>wonder</em> something. An innocent thought about why my English teacher didn’t let us read a certain story in our book, or whatever happened to the guy whose locker was above mine…The answers were weird sometimes, or spiteful, but sometimes it would be something like this!” Jean threw both arms into the air to emphasize her point.</p><p>Ororo waited patiently for her to simmer down. Even the fiercest of storms had to calm eventually.</p><p>“Some things I’m happier <em>not</em> knowing about,” Jean insisted, putting her face in her hands and making a frustrated sound. “My teacher thought the story was stupid, and didn’t want to grade papers about it. But the kid who had a locker above mine? He killed himself halfway through the year. The vibe coming off the metal…I had to trade mid-way through the semester.”</p><p>“This world is far from perfect, Jean,” Ororo said peacefully. “Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you the same thing.”</p><p>Jean laughed hollowly. “But I don’t need to ask if I keep picking their brains.”</p><p>“Perhaps it’s just stress. Or perhaps you’ve grown used to being in the institute. You haven’t had much of a mental workout all summer, what with Charles and that machine of his,” Ororo said reasonably, as Jean nodded in agreement. “I think it would behoove you to start building stronger shields, even here. You just haven’t been used to such a workout as Bayville High. Scott’s mind is, as you’ve said, a veritable fortress already. And this boy Paul? Perhaps his mind is strong, too. But you can’t rely on that when you’re around so many people.”</p><p>Jean nodded, seeing the sense in what she was saying. “Thanks, Ororo.”</p><p>“Not a problem. It’s what I’m here for. Teaching and the like, you know,” she said easily.</p><p>Jean smiled, and closed her eyes, a look of firm concentration on her face as the random junk she’d had piled up at the door flew about the room in search of where it belonged. Ororo didn’t even have to move, though a curling iron came pretty close to smacking her in the face, and she had to change its direction slightly with a small gust of wind.</p><p>When all was in order, Jean opened her eyes, standing and looking at her watch. Without missing a beat, Ororo turned her in the direction of her door. “Mister Summers is in want of some company, I’m sure. He’s made himself an ersatz igloo of sorts in the kitchen.”</p><p>Jean nodded, and trotted off. Ororo quietly closed Jean’s door behind herself, deciding to do something about Charles now. Honestly. She leaves for a few weeks and the man lets everything go to the dogs…What would he do without her?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Toad's war! Begins! Scott and Jean get some culture in their lives. Let's go to the Homecoming Dance! Which happens before the Homecoming game! To alleviate any confusion! What could go wrong?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Todd grinned. It had been much easier than he’d anticipated getting this far into the heart of the mansion. He was grateful, not for the first time, that his mutation allowed him to see in the dark. He crawled along the wall of the main floor, pausing only to clear doorways. He’d been here once before, and he pretty much remembered the layout, if he could just reach the staircase he’d be home free.</p><p>There! There was the staircase he remembered. He dropped silently to the floor, cautiously slipping up the stairs; the room he sought was on the upper level, and he’d have just entered by window, but he was pretty sure he’d have been caught by now if he’d done that.</p><p>Todd’s sneaking was rewarded when he finally spotted it; the room he’d remembered from his last visit to this house. He grinned again, wider, at the prospect of the sweet revenge that would soon be his. Unscrewing the lid of a jar that had until now been hidden in his pocket, Todd shook the contents gently into the lining of a letterman’s jacket on the floor.</p><p>His job done, Todd slipped from the room once more, holding back his laughter until he was safely out of sight of the mansion that was the homestead of none other than Duncan Matthews.</p><p>“Hope he enjoys the rash he’s gonna get from wearin’ that coat,” he muttered aloud, hopping resolutely onward. Next stop was that jerk in his Biology class who kept making jokes about “Toad dissection.”</p><p>Yes, it was petty. Yes, it didn’t benefit him at all. And yes, Mystique would be really pissed if she found out. But right now, in this instant, hopping purposefully onward, Toad felt that his small acts of revenge on the stupid jocks who made his life hell were his reward for putting up with them in the first place. After all; who ever heard of heaven on earth without any fun?</p><p>Snickering, Todd pulled a list out of his pocket, mentally reviewing the yard layout, and wondering where exactly he should put the vine of poison ivy he’d procured. Duncan wouldn’t have to itch alone…not if Todd had anything to say about it.</p><hr/><p>Jean liked to wonder about things. More specifically, she liked to wonder about things without the risk of prying the answer to her wonderings from an unsuspecting subconscious mind. Since she’d spoken to Ororo, and more importantly, taken the advice she’d given, she’d had no trouble at all with her telepathy, and that was fine by her. She still, however, had trouble when it came to the mind of Scott Summers.</p><p>Scott’s mind, as she continued to remind herself, was a veritable fortress to a telepath. He had amazingly strong mental shielding, and it was always hard work for Jean to read his mind, and if she did read his mind, it left her with a horrible headache for hours afterward. Professor Xavier himself said that when he ventured in Scott’s mind for whatever reason, he had to tread cautiously. What made it annoying was the fact that Scott claimed he didn’t consciously build his shields that powerfully. Jean had thought, though, that even without the aid of her mind-reading power, she’d read the signs right; and all the signs pointed to the fact that Scott Summers liked her.</p><p>She stabbed ferociously at her lunch, waiting for the very guy on her thoughts to join her; he’d debated going to the pizza line, but his hunger had been too severe to wait, so he’d taken the shorter line, and all that entailed. <em>Good, and then I’ll tell him what a jerk he’s being</em>, she thought, poking ever more forcefully at her mysterious lunch-food, glancing around to see if she could spot Scott’s approach.</p><p>Scott had been slightly stand-offish, but that wasn’t why she was frustrated with him. God be it for her to stop him from hanging out with Paul; it wasn’t like she had a complex about <em>him</em>; it was merely the fact that Jean had a problem admitting that she may have been wrong in her reading of him. She knew she wasn’t crazy. She’d seen the way he’d stare at her sometimes, or the way he’d randomly smile when he looked at her…and she had thought that her gestures back were plain as day, but he was a male, and thus he was somewhat ignorant to the ways of women.</p><p>After she’d brought up the episode when she’d asked him to the dance, and he’d feigned forgetfulness. (feigned, because if he <em>had</em> forgotten that she’d asked him to the dance then she might have to cause him physical harm.) And he was enough of a gentlemen to not think her crazy (or say so) if he really had forgotten…that’s why he was a jerk.</p><p>“Jean, what exactly <em>is</em> this?” drifted Scott’s voice into her mind. She visibly started; she’d been so engrossed in her own musings she’d forgotten to keep an eye out for him.</p><p>“I think it’s supposed to be meatloaf,” Jean answered promptly, pointing at the dry-erase board that proclaimed the day’s menu.</p><p>“Huh. I was going for ‘Mystery meat #7’ myself.”</p><p>“#7…I remember that one…it was almost edible, right?” Jean joked, pointing her fork at him, alarmed to see the entire square of whatever-the-meat-it-was still attached to the prongs.</p><p>Scott looked at the spectacle, and seemed to turn somewhat green. “Okay, I’m officially a vegetarian from now on.”</p><p>Jean giggled, and Scott grinned slightly. Jean narrowed her eyes<em>. I knew it</em>.</p><p>“Hey, Scott?”</p><p>“Hmm?” Scott was now poking at a platter of sickly-looking steamed broccoli, trying to decide if it was edible. His stomach rumbled, and he finally chose to eat it, chewing thoughtfully. “Interesting texture,” he mused, looking at Jean, who just glared. “Sorry. What?”</p><p>“Do you remember what day today is?”</p><p>“Friday?”</p><p>“And what happens on Friday?”</p><p>“Um…the Game, right?”</p><p>“No, it’s <em>not</em> the Game, the Game is tomorrow.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Well…what’s on today then?”</p><p><em>Place head on table. Lift six inches. Let head fall, banging into the table. Repeat process</em>. “The Dance? Ring a bell?” Jean resisted the urge to really bang her head on the table.</p><p>“Oh. I get it! Did you…”</p><p><em>Yes! Yes!</em> Jean encouraged him in her head.</p><p>“…want to photograph the dance too?” Scott finished, looking utterly confused.</p><p>Paul chose that moment to grace them with his presence, and Jean again had to resist the urge to bang her head on the table. “Paul, could you excuse us for a sec?” without waiting for an answer, Jean stood up abruptly, pulling Scott in her wake.</p><p>“Paul! Save me some pizza!” Scott called, twisting out of Jean’s grip, opting instead to just walk next to her.</p><p>Jean seethed. Once they were out of sight from the wandering eyes that had tracked their progress across the lunchroom, she whirled around, her eyes narrowed in annoyance and anger. “What’s your deal?”</p><p>“What? <em>My</em> deal? What’s <em>your</em> deal?”</p><p>“I’m going to be blunt, Mr. Summers. Either you stop acting dumb, or I swear I will make you live the rest of your days under the impression that you are a Siamese kitten! Understand?”</p><p>“But I don’t –”</p><p>“Geology. You had sunburn. We passed notes. Ringing any bells?”</p><p>Scott said nothing, but Jean could almost hear the ‘click’ as the thought shifted into place.</p><p>“Just so you know, I was serious about wanting to go the dance with you. And if you’ve changed your mind, or you thought I was kidding or something, you’d better inform me really quick, because I happen to be a telepath. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”</p><p>Scott still said nothing, just kind of gaped at her like a fish. He nodded though. Jean took this as a good sign.</p><p>“I take it you are agreeing to my offer then?” She teased, grinning.</p><p>Scott <em>still</em> said nothing. He seemed to be suffering from shock. Jean cheekily kissed one of his now furiously red cheeks. “Pick me up tonight at Xavier’s mansion. You know where that is, right?</p><p>Jean picked up a solitary thought as she left Scott alone by the drinking fountain in the lunch room. And it made her laugh so hysterically that several people backed further away from her, worried for her sanity. The thought was simply the word; <em>Wow</em>.</p><hr/><p>Kurt knew that some people found his <em>Mutti</em> frightening. He knew <em>he</em> found her frightening at times. After all, she was frightening when she was angry with him, and she was usually angry with him because of something he’d done. (or broken.) But he’d never been on the other side of her anger. The side where her anger benefited him. And he decided that indeed his <em>Mutti’s</em> anger was a powerful weapon when used for the forces of good instead of evil.</p><p>Kurt had talked, in short, with the people in charge of his schooling, and after holding a conversation with them in perfect English, they had still seemed reluctant to allow him to transfer to a foreign school. And then he’d handed the phone to his <em>Mutti</em>. And he had stood in awe with his father as she told them very <em>creatively</em> what they could do with that idea.</p><p>Kurt almost objected once or twice; when <em>he</em> used those words he was punished; but his father merely put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head silently.</p><p>“…erklären deinem Vorgesetzten im Augenblick,” she shouted vehemently, making gestures at the phone that Kurt also got in trouble for.</p><p>She then hung up the phone primly; she didn’t slam it into the receiver, since it was their only one, but from the satisfied look on her face, Kurt assumed she didn’t really need to slam it down.</p><p>“Sie sahen ihre Fehler,” she said simply.</p><p>Kurt’s face split into a grin. “Zen…I can go to America?”</p><p>“There will first be…<em>Gebet</em>?” Kurt’s mother looked confused.</p><p>“Prayer?”</p><p>“No, the vord is…”</p><p>“Appeal?”</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>!”</p><p>Kurt’s father tapped Kurt impatiently, demanding explanation for the sudden wild dancing motions of his wife. “Welche Fehler? Welches Gebet?” he asked in puzzlement.</p><p>Kurt grinned wider, feeling as if his face would split along his jaw. “Ich kann dir erklären.”</p><hr/><p>Scott sat in his room, bewildered. Since lunch earlier that day, he had gone through the motions of his routine in a state of shock. It surprised him to know that he could go through his classes on autopilot. He had managed, he supposed, to explain it (sort of) to Paul, who had done nothing more than given him strange smiles when he passed him in the hall for the rest of the school day. Scott had a lurking suspicion that Paul had known since they met that Scott really did like Jean.</p><p>He didn’t know how long had passed since he’d gotten home. He didn’t even remember <em>getting</em> home. He vaguely recalled Paul offering him a ride. There had been a sufficient chunk of time spent in some café or other, eating something he couldn’t recall with Paul running a monologue about something that had happed in one of his classes that day. Scott mused then how long it had been since Paul had asked to stay over; he would have attributed the sudden break in his visits to homework and the like, but Paul had admitted to him earlier in the week that his air-conditioner had been fixed.</p><p><em>Why am I sitting here?</em> He wondered to himself. He was wasting time, sitting on his bed thinking about stupid things when he could be spending this time getting ready for the dance!</p><p>With that sudden thought, he finally moved, getting up and going to his closet. Did he own a suit? Jean likely had a dress…or she was buying one now, which would explain why he hadn’t been able to find his car when he’d gotten home. Either that or he’d driven to school that day and left his car in the student parking lot in his daze. <em>No</em>, he corrected himself. <em>I gave the keys to Jean after lunch when she asked for them</em>.</p><p>Trying to remember where he’d put his wallet, Scott emptied his pockets. A stick of gum, a crumpled five-dollar bill, a quarter, two pennies, some lint, and, when he dug into the side pocket, his ruby-quartz visor. This wouldn’t do. He frantically re-checked all of his pockets, looking in vain for his missing wallet. It wasn’t on him. He started to pull apart the contents of his backpack, tossing books and pencils over his shoulder in his desperation. If he didn’t have his wallet, he wouldn’t have his driver’s license, and if he didn’t have that, then he couldn’t drive his car, and if he couldn’t drive his car, how would he get to the dance?</p><p>He redoubled his efforts, chucking loose change and erasers over his shoulder without abandon. He only stopped his mad search when he heard the Professor’s voice at his doorway.</p><p>“Scott? What are you looking for?”</p><p>Scott looked up to see the Professor examining a pen that had managed to imbed itself in the door. Scott flushed. “Sorry sir. I was trying to find my wallet…but I suppose I should focus on finding a suit first, huh?”</p><p>“There should be a fine suit in the closet; Ororo made sure you both had good clothes if she ever decided to take you into the city.”</p><p>“Really?” Scott turned back towards the closet and rooted through the slacks and button-ups; sure enough there was a sharp-looking black suit still in a plastic covering, complete with a black leather belt and a satin tie of indiscernible color. <em>Must be red</em>, mused thoughtfully. Through his red vision the tie seemed almost invisible, but for its opacity against his skin.</p><p>“Ororo had trips to Broadway or the Opera planned. We may have to settle for your dance for now,” Xavier was saying fondly as Scott hung the tie from his neck.</p><p>“She was going to take us to the Opera?”</p><p>“<em>Carmen</em>, she said. But it was cancelled.”</p><p>Scott shrugged into the jacket and stretched his arms. “This is great,” he said enthusiastically.</p><p>“Thank Ororo. She picked out the clothes, I just provided the expenses. Is your crisis sufficiently averted?”</p><p>“Well, I still have to find my wallet,” Scott said distractedly, inspecting the cuffs of the shirt.</p><p>“I’m sure it will turn up if you retrace your steps,” Xavier suggested. “If anything, though, perhaps Jean could drive?”</p><p>Scott nodded, and Xavier smiled. “Might you do something about this?” he pointed at the pen in the door, and Scott flushed again.</p><p>“Sorry, Professor.”</p><p>“Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Xavier said sternly, before he wheeled away, his chair humming pleasantly. Scott stared at him for a moment, unsure of their exchange. <em>You might want to get a move on</em>, came Xavier’s voice into his head. <em>Doesn’t this dance of yours start in half an hour</em>?</p><p>Scott swore enthusiastically, racing for the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Not 30 seconds later, he heard an angry pounding on the door, and the irritated voice of Jean, obviously running a little late herself.</p><p>“Sorry Jean,” he called to her, already running the water hastily. He heard another pound on the door as a reply, and then all was silent. He assumed she’d gone to the locker room in the sublevel below the Danger Room. She likely wasn’t too happy about that. He put it from his mind, hoping she’d understand, and instead set to the task of carefully (and blindly) scrubbing his face and around his eyes. He usually wore his goggles to shower, but his sunglasses would do, he just had to be careful to not blow a hole through the tile.</p><p>He managed to get through the ritual without too much fuss, and he barreled back and forth between his room and the bathroom, alternately drying his hair and putting on his snazzy suit a piece at a time in front of the mirror; glancing down to button his shirt proved harder than he’d initially thought with the thick frames of his special lenses blocking his sight. And the last thing he wanted was to blast his shirt – he was worried for the shirt, not himself, as he’d proven some time ago that his dangerous vision couldn’t harm his own skin.</p><p>Towards the end of his wanderings, when he was struggling with his tie, Jean kicked him out of the bathroom, muttering about him hogging the good mirror as a brush combed through her hair of its own accord. He decided to go to the kitchen and see about something to eat. If he knew Jean, she’d be ravenous after her yearbook meeting, since the only snacks available to her there were pretzels or churros, which she wasn’t crazy about.</p><p>He started as he came through the door and saw Ororo sitting serenely at the table already, delicately slipping apple slices into her mouth and offering Scott a granola bar. Set out were finger sandwiches, cut- fruit speared with toothpicks, and various candy bars. Scott took a seat at the table, re-tying his tie for the third time, desperately trying to remember how the hell to tie a proper Windsor, and Ororo chuckled.</p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I can’t remember the Windsor knot either, let alone trying it backwards on someone else.”</p><p>Scott grinned. “Never had to wear many suits growing up. Just to church when I was a kid, and then my mom tied my ties for me.”</p><p>Ororo nodded, taking another apple slice in her fingers and dislodging the toothpick, popping the fruit into her mouth.</p><p>“Nice spread,” Scott commented, taking a little vine of grapes for himself.</p><p>Ororo smiled. “The Professor informed me of your late start in getting ready for your dance; I thought of things that you could eat without worry of spilling on your nice clothes.”</p><p>Scott grinned, taking a finger sandwich. “You succeeded.”</p><p>Scott heard heavy footfalls on the stairs, then a thud, followed by a loud curse. He grinned uneasily, and Ororo chuckled.</p><p>“It sounds like Jean is ready,” Ororo said unnecessarily, as Jean made her not-so-dramatic entrance, hopping on one foot and pulling on an ugly black shoe.</p><p>“Stupid shoes tripped me up,” she muttered, straightening up and diving for the food.</p><p>Scott however, had almost stopped breathing. She was wearing an evening gown, the likes of which Scott had only seen on movie stars. It was full length black satin, from the capped sleeves to the train at her feet. Her hair was down, but curled in strategic tendrils that framed her face and offset the dress spectacularly. Scott could hardly find words to describe how beautiful she looked, and opted to silently stare at her, the faintest ghost of a silly grin on his face.</p><p>“I see you found your dress?” Ororo was saying to Jean, who had just taken a large bite from a granola bar and made a number of funny faces before just projecting the thought; <em>You bought this dress?</em> While furiously chewing her food.</p><p>Ororo smiled warmly and fingered a wrap that Jean had (for the moment) tucked around her waist.</p><p>“A gift for a rainy day, before the lead singer from <em>Carmen</em> passed away,” she explained. “I had thought to give you more culture than a grand piano in the hall.”</p><p>“You play that piano beautifully, Ororo. I think your performing is every bit as cultural as <em>Carmen</em>.” Jean proclaimed, pulling the wrap from around her waist and smoothing out invisible wrinkles, adjusting it properly about her shoulders.</p><p>She then turned her attention to Scott, who flushed and turned away. Jean, though, just smiled and approached him, pulling at his tie. She then proceeded to tie the perfect Double-Windsor knot, pulling and adjusting his collar smartly, and patting his chest with certainty. “Another thing I learned to do just because my sister can’t,” she explained, grinning evilly. “It’s up there with building a fire, climbing a rope, and making a mean ambrosia salad when occasion calls.”</p><p>“What a woman,” Scott teased, relieved that she didn’t think him totally lame for staring at her for so long.</p><p>“Are we off, or what?” Jean asked, tapping him softly on the tip of his nose and starting for the door. Scott hurried ahead of her to open the door. She rewarded his gesture with a brilliant smile. “Such a gentleman.”</p><p>“Be back by eleven! Have fun!” Ororo called, tossing a few candy-bars to Scott, who put them in his jacket pocket for later.</p><p>“By the way, Scott, you left your wallet in the car,” Jean told him as he caught up with her in time to open the front door.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> where it was! I was looking for it <em>everywhere</em>!” Scott exclaimed, grinning at his error.</p><p>“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t mind, so I bought a Ferrari with the checking card,” she teased him, taking his proffered arm and leaning her head on his shoulder as they meandered their way to the garage.</p><p>“Should have gotten a Jag,” Scott said seriously, holding out a hand for his keys, which Jean produced, reaching under her sleeve.</p><p>“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t you know, they were all reserved?”</p><p>“Really? Under what name?”</p><p>“Iyamad Orkuss.”</p><p>“Iyamad Orkuss?”</p><p>“Uh-huh. Real crazy guy. Goes to Bayville.”</p><p>“Iyamad Orkuss…Iyamad Orkuss…”</p><p>“No, say it faster, the pronunciation’s off,” Jean encouraged, laughing as he did what she told him.</p><p>“Iyamadorkuss, Iyamadorkuss –” Scott stopped, finally realizing the joke. “I am a dorkuss. Ha ha.”</p><p>Jean just laughed all the harder and got into the front seat of the car.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Dance! The chase! All collide! With Scott! Oh. Well, I'm sure the gym needed renovation at some point, anyway, right?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>How is it</em>, thought Todd, frantically alternating running and hopping through a narrow alleyway, <em>that I always end up being chased by someone? Why me?</em> He cleared a low wall easily, and he found himself in some rich guy’s backyard. <em>Where am I, anyway?</em> He hardly knew. He raced across the yard, hopping over the opposite wall and finding himself once more in an alleyway of sorts. Mystique was sick of him, it seemed, and practically threw him out of the house so she could have some “peace and quiet.”</p><p><em>Peace and quiet my ass</em>, Todd thought savagely<em>. I was sleeping and she all but threw me out the window. Bitch.</em></p><p>It seemed, though, that Todd’s acts of vengeance on his peers had caught up to him. And not in a good way. Duncan had developed a rash, all right, but way bigger than Todd had expected. Turns out he had really sensitive skin, and the powder had triggered an allergic reaction of sorts. Who knew? And Duncan had connected the dots. He was a jock, but he wasn’t an idiot. Unfortunately, he’d put the squeeze on Todd about the money he’d stolen, and so Todd had gotten him back. It wasn’t too hard to figure out.</p><p>Todd figured it was the timing that had killed him. <em>And usually I’m so good with timing</em>, he thought, hopping up to catch hold of the ladder of a fire escape, clambering upwards. Duncan and his friends had been forced to cancel their dates to the homecoming dance. Furthermore, they’d been forced to skip the game. Doctor’s orders. Strict bed rest and calamine lotion until the rashes cleared up. Todd just found it funny. The jocks, though, didn’t seem to. And they’d set out looking for him; and wouldn’t you know, just as Mystique throws him out the window again, there they are. Duncan and his cronies.</p><p>“When we catch you, you’re dead, Toad!” Todd glanced behind him, noting in alarm that they hadn’t been thrown off by his little detour along the way. They were clambering up the fire-escape only a few stairwells behind him.</p><p>“Hey, ain’t you supposed to be bed-restin’ or somethin’?”  he called desperately, climbing faster. Give him a construction site and he’d be all over it. But <em>this</em>? This little metal cage made of ladders and staircases? No thank you.</p><p>“Not until we use your head for a football, you loser!”</p><p>“Now guys, lets not name-call!” Todd reached the last stretch; a long ladder that led halfway to the roof before it broke off. He figured he could make up that distance with some quick jumping.</p><p>Duncan had pushed ahead of his subordinates, starting ahead of them on the last staircase. Todd was surprised they could move so fast. He bridged the gap between the end of the broken ladder and the roof with a well-aimed leap, and he pulled himself up the rest of the way. He groaned when he saw the view. The alleyways had confused him, but he knew where he was now. The view from the top of Bayville’s pride, the Wanderer’s Haven Inn, was unmistakable. And very, <em>very</em> high.</p><p>“There’s no way down from here, moron!” came the labored calls of one of the nameless lackeys.</p><p>“That’s what I was afraid of,” Todd muttered, sparing a quick glance at the door that led into the hotel. How long would it take him to open? He glanced back at the place he’d clambered up, alarmed to see a pair of familiar arms groping for a stronghold. He dove for the door; amazed and relieved when it opened, just like that.</p><p>Not believing his luck, Todd hurled himself through the door, hearing the indignant shouts of Duncan Matthews behind him. He spotted a service elevator, hopping into it and jamming his thumb into the ‘close doors’ button repeatedly until the elevator complied. He punched the ‘Lobby’ button, panting in relief as the elevator sped downwards.</p><p>Todd tried to work out a plan. He leaned heavily against the wall, catching his breath, thinking hard as the car merrily pinged as it passed floor after floor. When he got to the main floor, he probably wouldn’t have much time before someone caught up with him, whether Duncan had decided to take the stairs, or the others had worked their way back down the fire escape. Where would he go? Back to the roof? Jump off? Save them the trouble of killing him themselves?</p><p><em>No</em>, Todd decided, glancing at the display where the elevator declared they had just passed the 7<sup>th</sup> floor. <em>That would be playing his game</em>. His strong personal preservation aside, he just didn’t want to give these jocks the satisfaction. <em>And that</em>, he chided himself, <em>is why you have a death wish</em>.</p><p>The door finally opened onto the main floor, and he ran again, out the front door and across the street. He eyed a familiar building, a plan starting to form in his mind. That dance was tonight, right? And these jerks wanted to go, didn’t they?</p><p>His face twisted into a wicked grin, he purposely waited as the confused football players congregated outside once more, and then waiting a little longer as Duncan finally spotted him. Feeling better now that he had a plan, and now that he wasn’t so out of breath, Todd broke into his strange gait, alternating hopping and running, but not so fast that he lost his pursuers. After all, they didn’t want to be too late for the dance, did they? And wouldn’t everyone be delighted to see that, embarrassing rashes aside, their star players had come to the dance?</p><p>“I’m gonna beat the crap out of you, Toad!” drifted Duncan’s voice on the wind.</p><p>“You guys don’t quit, do ya? Go Hawks, yo!” Todd called cheekily, turning the corner as he came to the street he needed. <em>One good thing about always being chased</em>, Todd had to admit, <em>is that the predator doesn’t choose the destination. The prey does</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Jean had known that she’d have to let down her shields a <em>little</em> when they’d gotten to the crowded gym and she’d seen the turn out. Because if she kept them high enough to block out this…madness, then she’d likely pass out from mental exhaustion before the night was through. She’d known, also, that she was likely to hear a few thoughts in doing this; and she’d told herself she could handle it. She’d known that Scott’s shields were strong enough to keep <em>his</em> thoughts in check, and his thoughts were all that mattered anyway. And lastly, she’d known that she’d come to this dance looking hot. It wasn’t vanity (well, it was vanity, but not too much of it), it was simple truth. The dress looked good on her. Really good. Ororo had excellent taste.</p><p>She hadn’t taken the vast number of testosterone-heavy football-toting seniors into account. It seemed they were a class of their own concerning thought processes. Most of them were simple thoughts on strategies they could use to ensure their victory at the game the next day, which they were only too happy to relay to each other, much to the disappointment of their dates for the evening.</p><p>Some of them, however, were watching the crowded dance floor, almost hungrily, eyeing who’d come with whom, and the level of hotness they thought the girls were. 1t was infantile, Jean decided, and completely idiotic, considering they had their own dates, and in some cases, their own girlfriends. But infantile or not, her shielding efforts were quite a bit more challenging than she’d bargained for. She’d never thought she’d be hearing thoughts about <em>herself</em>; she’d assumed she’d be trying to tune out idle gossip and jealous girls whose friends had bought the same dress they had.</p><p>Instead, she was getting a mindful of jealous rage from half of the girls and she was being mentally undressed by many of the boys. Precious few thoughts were as simple as ‘Jean’s dress is pretty,’ which is what she thought she’d hear. She found herself unable to keep up a proper conversation with Scott, distracted as she was, and soon, she knew, she’d start to hear <em>his</em> thoughts too, as he got more worried and his distress leaked through his shields.</p><p>She knew she was blushing horrendously, and if this kept up her telekinesis would start acting up. She wordlessly pulled Scott out of the Gym, into the hall, breathing a little easier as some of the stimulus faded away with the distance.</p><p>“Jean, are you okay?”</p><p>Jean didn’t answer, concentrating, instead, on bulking up her own mental shields, convinced that she had just let them drop too low. She was bothered to realize that her shielding wasn’t too low at all; she assumed the excitement of the dance had turned everyone’s thoughts up louder or something. She sighed in frustration.</p><p>“Jean, do you think this dance was maybe a bit overrated?”</p><p>She looked at Scott in amazement, as he absently buttoned a cuff that had come undone.</p><p>“How is it that you read my mind when I’m the telepath, buster?” she muttered softly, helping him with the cuff and smoothing his jacket sleeve over his dress shirt.</p><p>Scott just chuckled softly back. “I kind of noticed that you were having a hard time in there,” he admitted, pushing his glasses farther back on his nose, grinning at her.</p><p>Jean sighed. “There’s just so much excitement and…and…”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Testosterone!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s a little hard to concentrate when half the thoughts are…just…”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” Scott looked slightly concerned. Jean smiled wearily.</p><p>“Let’s just say that they’re not appropriate for kids under seventeen,” she said, half-joking.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Jean leveled him with a look. “Scott, half the guys are football players, and the other half is fueled by hormones. And…there’s a lot of pretty girls here, wearing really pretty dresses…”</p><p>Scott gaped wordlessly at her, disbelieving of what she said. Jean had to grin. “Yes, Scott, I know it’s a shocker for you, but not everyone is the perfect gentleman you turned out to be. And they’re entitled to their own thoughts, I…I just happened to see them, that’s all.”</p><p>Scott finally slumped a little. “I don’t know how you deal with it,” he said in amazement. “I didn’t even see what they were thinking and I want to punch them or something…”</p><p>“What for?” Jean said sensibly. “We can’t punch them out for their thoughts and fantasies. They’re not hurting anyone –”</p><p>“But you –”</p><p>“They don’t know I’m a telepath, Scott.”</p><p>Scott didn’t say anything, just fidgeted with his glasses again, pushing them further up his nose, readjusting them, only to push them up again.</p><p>“Got the wrong pair or something?” Jean smirked, glad for the subtle change of topic.</p><p>“No, they fit fine, it’s just –” Scott cut himself off, making a frustrated sound and sighing heavily.</p><p>“Scott? What’s wrong?” Worrying, Jean led them further down the hallway, away from the sounds of the dance.</p><p>He sighed again, once they were out of earshot from anyone who was idly wandering to the bathroom. “Remember, back in April when we were talking about why I didn’t get headaches anymore?”</p><p>Jean frowned, and then nodded uncertainly. It had been some 3:00 in the morning at the time, and she had just shared his nightmare, but she remembered it.</p><p>“And you were freaking out because I told you I wake up to watch the sun rise?”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“I think my eyes…my beams…I think they draw power from the sun.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and hypothesize with the Professor.”</p><p>“And…”</p><p>“And he agrees. There are things…Stuff I didn’t even remember that made sense after I started thinking about it.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like…like…a few times, Jack would lock me in the trunk of his car –”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“And I’d get sick.”</p><p>“He locked you in the trunk?!”</p><p>“And I think it’s because it was so utterly dark –”</p><p>“Of course it was dark! He <em>locked</em> you in his <em>trunk</em>!”</p><p>“Jean, it was no big deal.”</p><p>“He locked you in his trunk!”</p><p>“Jean, focus.”</p><p>Jean snorted angrily. “I’m focused on the fact that you were locked in the trunk of some crazy-man’s car!”</p><p>“It was <em>Jack</em>, Jean! Of course he locked me in the trunk of his car!”</p><p>“You’re okay with this?!”</p><p>“Jean, it’s past. It doesn’t matter anymore what Jack did. Okay?”</p><p>“But Scott, he –”</p><p>“He would also maniacally chart the days I’d have my headaches and use them for his own personal gain. He also locked me in the bathroom once for three days. He took me to the emergency room once after <em>he</em> broke <em>my</em> nose! And – and he would plan these – these heists that r-revolved around whether or not I c-could b-b-blast the d-damn door open! T-two years of that, Jean! So…just d-drop it…”</p><p>Jean didn’t say anything. Scott still looked angry, but Jean didn’t blame him. He hadn’t stuttered in a long time. She opened her mouth, but Scott had calmed down. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, sounding more assured when he didn’t stutter. “It’s what I’m trying to tell you…I think it’s the sun. The sun is setting, and in the back of my mind, I <em>know</em> that it’s setting…I guess it has me a little edgy.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Jean agreed. But then she looked worried again. “But we’ve been going to parties all summer…was this bugging you then?”</p><p>“It wasn’t this bad,” Scott assured her, once again straightening his glasses. “There was better lighting, and since it was summer, the sun didn’t completely set until we got home anyway. Most of the time.”</p><p>“So…better lighting helps?”</p><p>“Yeah. A little.”</p><p>Jean took his arm, grinning. “Okay, how about this; the thoughts are too racy for my liking, and the lighting is terrible for you…and they’re playing that annoying techno song for the <em>third</em> time –”</p><p>“—the old version was better,” Scott couldn’t help but mutter, grinning.</p><p>“– so let’s go,” Jean said simply.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Let’s go,” Jean repeated.</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“Anywhere. Let’s go out to eat. We’re certainly dressed for it.” Jean grinned, spinning around and gesturing at her dress.</p><p>Scott seemed to deflate a little. “Here’s the thing…I’m all but broke. We spent my money on your cleats and stuff for soccer.”</p><p>“<em>All</em> of it?”</p><p>“Well, some of it went to put gas in my car.”</p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>“We can go out…but we’ll have to be conservative.”</p><p>“How conservative?”</p><p>“Jean, have you ever been to McDonald’s?”</p>
<hr/><p>Scott heard it before he saw it; the squeak of sneakers on linoleum that was Todd Tolansky hopping frantically past him, his goal undoubtedly the double-doors at the end of the hallway – just as Scott turned to the sound, he was bowled over; there was neither an apology nor any sign that Todd had noticed what he’d done. Scott, though, felt (or rather <em>didn’t</em> feel) the subtle weight difference on his nose; three seconds of uncertainty, and Scott knew it was too late.</p><p>He blocked out the flashbacks that came violently to his mind; the voice of Jack that came automatically to the forefront of his thoughts. <em>Kid, don’t it feel better when they’re open?</em></p><p>Scott remembered the incident like it was yesterday. Was it really almost a year ago? It must have been…his birthday was fast approaching; Jean’s wasn’t far behind. He could hardly believe how far he’d come. A year ago…he wouldn’t have even entertained the notion of going to a dance for fear – fear of another headache, fear of Jack and all that implied – a year ago, he wouldn’t have been thinking about any semblance of a social life, not to mention any sort of relationship. (With a <em>girl</em>, even!)</p><p>He’d have been continuing to live his life a day at a time, thin as a scarecrow and more paranoid than a person is meant to be. He would continue lying about his Jack-induced injuries, continue stealing food for lack of money, and hiding the money he did have from Jack – His life had really sucked, hadn’t it? Scott softly laughed at the revelation.</p><p>Now, though, wasn’t the time to get lost reminiscing. There was a situation at hand, and he didn’t know where his sunglasses had gotten to. And underlying everything was the annoying nagging sense of unease due to the ever-fading light from the sun. He felt the slight tickling at the back of his mind that he knew to be Jean. He sighed in relief. Jean could help him. She could find his glasses. And once he could see, he could try and help sort out the damage.</p><p>His eyes, covered though they were, did nothing to block the horrifying sound of the destruction he’d caused. His reminiscing had been done to the sounds of falling chunks of stone and plaster, sounds of disbelief and horror coming from Todd and Jean. Inexplicably, he heard the shrill bleating of the fire-alarm, and more relief flooded through him. If the fire-alarm was going off, that meant that the majority of the student body who had been in the gym were now evacuated and out of danger.</p><p>He heard above all, though, Jean’s frantic mental shouts for him. If he wasn’t within her line of sight, he couldn’t imagine where he was. Perhaps his blasts were bringing the hallway down? If that were the case, they had to leave before they were buried. He hurriedly concentrated his efforts on calling out to her with his mind. Before he heard a reply of any sort though, he felt a strange, sharp pain at the back of his head, and he crumpled as his world slipped away.</p>
<hr/><p>Charles Xavier hunched in his chair, the mental manifestation of Jean’s overwhelming fear having hit him like a physical blow to the stomach. Ororo came to his side at once, asking him what he needed.</p><p>“Get the car ready,” he commanded firmly, noting in alarm that he couldn’t establish contact with his student. “We need to get to Bayville High School, <em>now</em>.”</p><p>Ororo nodded, running ahead of him to the garage. As he made his own way slowly to the same destination, he heard the sound of the idling x-van. By the time he got to the scene, Ororo had miraculously changed into her Storm costume; she looked most formidable as static crackled around her in her agitation. Though Charles hated traveling by x-van, he had no choice in the matter at this moment, considering any other vehicle she could have picked would have certainly meant her lifting him into his seat, and then out again, which would take more time than they could afford.</p><p>He tried again to establish connection with Jean or Scott. All he sensed was Jean’s panicked thoughts. He picked up that Scott was injured. It surprised him to realize that Jean was blocking him out so effectively. Either she was doing it on purpose, or, he thought in alarm, she was doing it without her realization. And if that were the case, he needed to get there all the more quickly.</p><p>“Charles, what’s going on?” Storm demanded, driving far more recklessly than the law allowed.</p><p>“Let’s just say that something is happening at the school, and whatever it is has given Jean cause to block me out. And I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.”</p><p>“What do you suppose has happened?”</p><p>“It has something to do with Scott…and I have the overwhelming feeling that if we don’t get there quickly to help sort it out, it may be too late.”</p><p>“For whom?”</p><p>“For everyone.”</p>
<hr/><p>Paul didn’t always think about the repercussions of his actions. But he trusted his instincts. Instinct told him to follow Todd when he saw the slimy guy weaving through the football players. Instinct told him to pull the fire alarm when he’d felt the tremors, even though logic told him it could very well have been thunder or something. Instinct had told him to stop some of the fleeing football players, and ask them to come with him.</p><p>Following his instinct had rewarded him. He’d rounded a corner, with a few jocks in tow (Duncan Matthews, from the football team, and two guys who called themselves 3D and Match from the Tennis team, he noted) only to see Jean Grey frantically digging at a pile of rubble, blood seeping out of her nose and onto a dress that had once been gorgeous black satin, and was now torn and dusty.</p><p>Helping her was Todd Tolansky, who looked up at him, but seeing Duncan following not to far away, turned to flee, only to come back to Jean’s side when he was almost squished by a large chunk of the ceiling.</p><p>“What happened!?” He called frantically, running to Jean’s side, pulling his unwilling peers behind him.</p><p><em>Scott</em>! She called loudly, not pausing in her frenzied digging. Paul nodded, motioning for his three companions to help. She was so worried, and she’d shouted so loud, Paul almost thought he’d heard her voice in his mind! But that was crazy. He was unnerved; however, to realize that the debris falling from everywhere seemed to fall <em>around</em> Jean. Something must have happened to make the ceiling collapse, and Jean was probably standing under a particularly strong bit of foundation, that’s all.</p><p>He didn’t take notice of Duncan as he moved angrily past Paul and Jean, and even 3D and Match in his single-minded need to get his hands on Todd, the latter of whom made to move out of Jean’s mysterious protective bubble, only to have Duncan tackle him out of the way as a particularly large piece of detritus fell right on the spot where he would have been a moment before.</p><p>Paul stopped, looking at the display of heroics in skepticism. Duncan couldn’t possibly have saved Todd of his own free will, which meant that he’d just saved Todd on accident. Seeing what had almost occurred, though, both teens hastened back to Jean’s side, where the ground was oddly clear of any rubble, besides the large pile that Jean was hysterically digging at.</p><p>He could only gape as Jean’s hair seemed to…well, <em>float</em> around her. It was like she had suddenly gone underwater and forgotten to take them with her. He backed away as the pile of rubble shook ominously; he covered his face protectively as the top layer of the debris seemed to shoot in all directions, but he needn’t have worried; Jean’s mysterious bubble had protected them once more, and as the chunks of plaster and stone shot past at mind-numbing speed, none came remotely close to Jean or those who gathered around her, looking on in fear and confusion.</p><p>Only Todd looked slightly unfazed; he, instead, looked down, his eyes alighting on a pair of sunglasses – Scott’s, Paul realized – and he quickly plucked them from the ground, shoving them carefully into his pocket. He saw Paul staring at him, and gave him a look that clearly said <em>What? Do you have a problem?</em></p><p><em>Something’s weird</em>, Paul decided, watching as Jean, breathing heavily, started shakily pulling more of the wreckage away with her hands again, and again the five teens came forward to help her, looking as freaked-out as Paul himself felt. Except for Todd. Why was Todd so calm about everything? What had Jean done just now? Why wasn’t anything falling on her? Where was Scott? And most importantly, what the hell had happened here?</p><p>“It’s okay, you guys,” Jean panted almost deliriously. “Professor Xavier is on his way. He’ll help us.”</p><p>“You mean the owner of that twisted house on the hill?” came the somewhat squeaky voice of 3D, whom Paul had never heard speak before.</p><p>“What help can some freaky crippled billionaire be anyway?!” exclaimed Match, throwing a fragmented bit of brick to the floor.</p><p>“Hows about you trust the lady, huh? Derrick Daniel Drake? Mitch Mattis?”</p><p>The two guys glanced in surprise at Todd, who just shrugged. “I’m the <em>Principal’s</em> ward, yo. I know stuff.”</p><p>Duncan just blinked. “Your name is seriously Derrick Daniel Drake?” he asked 3D, who just flushed in embarrassment.</p><p>Match, or Mitch Mattis, looked at Todd like Duncan was looking at 3D. “Ms. Darkholme is your guardian?”</p><p>“Scott!! Can you hear me?!”</p><p>Everyone turned their heads sharply to Jean, who hadn’t stopped digging all this time, though she looked like she was going to faint from exertion.</p><p>Paul watched as Jean squeezed her eyes shut, and the ever shrinking pile of rubble started to explode outwards again. It seemed to take a lot of strength out of her though, and she had to stop and dig with her hands again. Duncan looked like he’d rather be doing anything else, and considering that he was helping dig Scott Summers out of this mess he’d gotten into, Paul was hardly surprised, considering how highly Scott spoke of Duncan (which was to say, not highly at all) but at a glance from Paul himself, as well as their companions, Duncan grudgingly dug into the remaining vestiges with great gusto.</p>
<hr/><p>Jean wasn’t sure which relieved her more; the arrival of the Professor or the arrival of Storm right after him. She’d been alternating using her powers and using her muscles to get the junk off of the place she somehow knew Scott was, and she had been unnerved to realize that a lot of her powers were working of their own accord based off the panic she’d started to feel when she saw the mass amount of debris trap Scott.</p><p>Until the Professor arrived, she’d hardly been aware of the help she was receiving in the form of five boys, or the effort she’d been putting into Scott’s rescue; she was also shocked to realize that all the while she’d been blocking the Professor out of her mind and empowering a stronger psychic force-field than she’d ever attempted before.</p><p>The Professor immediately put forth his own mental abilities to strengthen hers, an action she was grateful for when, after Storm somehow got the rest of the rubbish out of the way without harming Scott or the other boys in any way, she had to immediately put her effort into blocking the beams that continued to surge weakly through his eyes they fluttered uncertainly between wakefulness and unconsciousness.</p><p>The Professor firmly put the suggestion into Scott’s mind to sleep, and his eyes closed firmly. Jean found herself mentally scanning him for injuries, and her panic showed on her face; she had realized that her uncertainty and fear were guiding her powers again, and it disconcerted her.</p><p>“It’s all right, Jean, now that Scott’s eyes aren’t open, there won’t be any more damage done to the school,” Xavier said aloud, simply to spare her exhausted mind the extra burden of hearing his thoughts.</p><p>Seeing that Scott was safe, save a few cuts and bruises, and seeing that the situation was under control, Jean quietly succumbed to the fatigue that had been waiting to claim her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>All of the things! End! Weirdness ensues!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Todd had his own suspicions as to what had actually happened that day. Mainly because his own recollecting was somewhat off…He remembered something about the ceiling falling down, and Duncan Matthews saving him…but he was certain it had to have been his imagination, because when the hallway by the gym had crumbled (bad foundation, you know) he’d been walking home, after having left the dance when the fire-alarm had been pulled. And anyway, why would Duncan Matthews save him? And hadn’t Duncan Matthews been home nursing his rash? (Todd snickered.)</p><p>He also thought that he’d found Scott Summers’ shades, but for that to have happened, Summers and his girlfriend would have to have come to the dance, and he knew for a fact that they didn’t. Witnesses had seen them at McDonalds, dressed to the nines, making some big to-do out of eating the cheese-burgers there. And anyway, didn’t Summers have a killer stare or something? If Todd had found the shades, then something horrible and destructive would have happened…wait…wasn’t that what happened? Maybe Todd was remembering it wrong…</p><p>He glanced over at Jean Grey, and she looked at him, narrowing her eyes…he felt the weirdest sensation run through his brain…</p><p>Todd shook his head. He’d lost his train of thought…glancing up, he saw Jean Grey smiling at him. Nothing unusual. She smiled at everyone. He had the weirdest feeling that she owed him one, though…weird. He shook his head again, shrugging it off. Maybe he was just having an off day. He went into the hallway, headed for his first class of the day.</p><p>Upon passing one Derrick Daniel Drake (called 3D by anyone who didn’t have a deathwish) Todd felt a surge of de-ja-vu. He turned around to glance again at the boy, and was surprised to see that 3D had also turned. The two boys looked at each other. Was it possible that they were thinking the same thing?</p><p>At the same time, Todd and 3D grinned, and turned away from each other, separating to go their own ways. <em>Naw….couldn’t be…</em></p><hr/><p>Duncan Matthews didn’t get it. It just didn’t make sense. Today had been the weirdest day. First, the football team’s early morning practice had been started off to an abrupt resignation by most of the senior players – they said that upon thinking things over, they really felt that time spent on their academics would serve them better than competing for an athletic scholarship, and that their girlfriends had been nagging them about the amount of time that they spent playing, talking about, thinking about, or practicing football.</p><p>If that wasn’t weird enough, Jean Grey had stopped giving him the cold shoulder all of a sudden. He knew girls were fickle creatures, but this was ridiculous. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, and had asked her to eat lunch with him. She usually said no, but she’d said she’d think about it. Whoever had changed her mind about him had his thanks. If he could remember them.</p><p>He had the weirdest feeling that something big had happened…but he couldn’t remember what it was for the life of him. He felt like he was on the verge of knowing some big secret, but at the last second, he’d forgotten what it was. It was annoying, is what it was. He also harbored a fiercely intense rivalry with Scott Summers. He wasn’t sure about that, either, but again, he didn’t question it. It was a guy thing.</p><p>All in all, it had been a pretty productive day. With all the seniors gone, he’d probably have a chance at varsity. And unlike his senior fellows, he had no problem competing for an athletic scholarship. And was it just him, or was that wart, Toad Tollansky being better behaved towards him? He swore then and there that he’d never get poison ivy again. It completely threw his life for a loop.</p><hr/><p>Between them, Scott and Jean had managed to put the real story more or less together, though it had been difficult, upon realizing that the Professor had wiped everyone’s minds of the event in question. Harder, was having to go to school like nothing had happened; both teens were sufficiently bruised and beaten past normal injury; Scott had gotten a concussion, he knew, as well as a broken arm, and Jean had had a perpetual headache since that night; a souvenir, she teased, from being linked with Scott’s mind for so long.</p><p>The Professor had fixed everything to the best of his ability, between praising them shamelessly for the way they had each handled the situation; Jean had managed to protect her classmates from harm – no small task, considering her powers had been running on autopilot for much of the situation – Scott, when his glasses had fallen off, had immediately closed his eyes to stop further damage – an act that had proved to put himself in danger when he was trapped by all of the collapsing detritus because he couldn’t see it to block against it.</p><p>The Professor was also very impressed with the actions of Paul, though the poor boy could never know of it. He had followed his instincts, pulled the fire alarm, and his actions had been entirely for the aid of Jean and Scott; in being inside Paul’s mind to augment the memories, the Professor had seemed to take to the boy, and he urged Scott to cultivate that friendship, because, he said, it wasn’t often you find a mind that cares for humanity as much as Paul’s did.</p><p>“It’s weird, though, isn’t it?” Jean mused to him at lunch that day. Paul was tied up in the lunch line because <em>no one</em> wanted to brave the non-pizza side that day, not even Scott, hungry though he was. Paul had offered to stand in line for all of them and buy extra slices; a plan that had been heartily agreed on by all as Jean forked over a few bucks for the extra food and trouble he was going through.</p><p>“What’s weird?” Scott asked, stretching the fingers on his right arm. It hadn’t been healed generically, but instead psychically, courtesy of Jean and the Professor, but it felt strange, if nothing else and he found himself favoring his “uninjured” left arm.</p><p>“The Professor harps on about the ethics of using your powers, and he turns around and changes everyone’s memories? Just to keep his secret a little longer?” Jean wordlessly put her hand out, taking his fingers as he stretched them, in a subtle reminder that his arm was fine.</p><p>“I think it’s more of a matter of safety. I don’t think everyone’s ready to know about the existence of mutants, Jean.”</p><p>Jean made a face at him. “Now who sounds like a walking textbook?”</p><p>Scott grinned. “You know what I heard ‘Ro talking about though?”</p><p>Jean rolled her eyes at the obvious dismissal of her taunt, but humored his subject-change anyway. “What did you hear ‘Ro talking about?”</p><p>“We’re going to have more students here. She was talking to the Professor about her nephew, saying that she was sure he was a mutant, only hiding his powers from everyone. Won’t it be weird, having other mutants at the mansion?”</p><p>Jean’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Why didn’t he tell us?”</p><p>“Maybe he forgot. He’s kind of a spaz when it comes to stuff like that, he’s too wrapped up in his computer.”</p><p>“How many mutants do you think he’s found, anyway?”</p><p>“At least one more. I couldn’t hear it all, because they were walking away, but they mentioned the name ‘Kurt.’”</p><p>Jean grinned. “Great. Another guy. I hope all the mutants aren’t guys. Are you sure ‘Ro didn’t mention a niece?”</p><p>“Can’t handle a little testosterone?” Scott teased.</p><p>Jean flushed a little at his choice of words. It only brought back the memories of the thoughts that had bombarded her mind that night, few of which had been very tasteful.</p><p>“Jean?”</p><p>“Scott…what do you think the Professor did to those seniors? He said he made everyone think we hadn’t gone to the dance at all, right?” Jean mused.</p><p>“Yeah…” Scott followed, taking on the train of thought.</p><p>“So…”</p><p>“So…I don’t know how the Professor would have handled it… but I’ll tell you what I would have done,” Scott said determinedly.</p><p>“Besides beat them up?” Jean asked sardonically.</p><p>“I might have changed their thought processes a little. Let them see the errors of their ways. Maybe convinced them that football wasn’t the way to go.”</p><p>“Not ethical.”</p><p>“Neither is changing a memory, if you think about it.”</p><p>“…Touché.”</p><p>Paul came to the table then, and the conversation steered away from mutant-related topics. Jean, though, let her mind wander while Paul engaged Scott in some tale or other involving a place called the <em>Wanderer’s Haven Inn</em> and a grand chase that had allegedly went down there the other night.</p><p>Above the rest of her thoughts, there drifted the issue of Duncan Matthews. Jean was pointedly remembering the Professor’s words earlier that morning. How he’d admitted he’d been wrong about Paul, and it was only after touching his mind to augment the memories that he knew what kind of a person Paul was.</p><p><em>I could have sworn I had Duncan’s personality pegged though</em>, her inner voice chided ferociously. <em>And Scott </em>hates<em> him</em>! But there was the fact that he’d inarguably saved Todd Tolansky’s life, even if he didn’t remember doing it anymore.</p><p>At that moment, Scott glanced at her fleetingly; just a half-second’s glance as he spoke with Paul; he smiled at her, and then turned his attention back to Paul.</p><p><em>If I’d have based my opinion of Scott on my first impression of him, I’d be out the best friend I’ve had since Annie</em>, she thought suddenly. She flushed as she remembered her first thoughts about him. <em>Too</em> <em>pale, too skinny, probably in need of as much washing as his clothes</em>, were some specifics.</p><p><em>Maybe I </em>should<em> give Duncan another chance</em>.</p><hr/><p>The Hawks were spectacular for the whole season, even though a select few of their players never came to the Homecoming Game because of a mysterious rash they’d all gotten. As they neared the playoffs, Jean’s eye for photography and her in with the team through one Duncan Matthews got her a lot of free tickets to the game for her friends, Scott and Paul, should they choose to come.</p><p>The first-string seniors, though, after an amazing Homecoming game, all quit, so as to spend more game-nights with their academics and with their girlfriends. Duncan Matthews, though he was only a Junior, became the star of the team, and he carried his team to victory when he became the first-string quarterback.</p><p>Scott never did get why Jean suddenly stopped her Duncan-hating. It confused him to no end, and actually became the source of a lot of the fights he had with Jean that year. They’d always apologize to one another, though, and watch Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy throughout the night, even after new students were recruited to Xavier’s school. Jean just had to keep a bubble around them so as not to disturb anyone.</p><p>One Kurt Wagner made his way successfully through his appeal, and was able to plead his case (In perfect German <em>and</em> English) spectacularly. His Mutti helped. He packed his bags for his trip to America, and 3 trains, a plane with 2 layovers, and then another 2 trains later, he was in New York, where, luckily, the Professor was waiting to pick him up, even after some startlingly familiar events took place at the game before the playoffs, where he had to help his students as Scott found himself accidentally setting the whole of the home bleachers aflame. </p><p>Logan, who had always had a knack of knowing when to be somewhere, arrived the same day Kurt did, and he keeps the new recruits in line.</p><p>Paul always had a strange feeling that there was more to Scott and Jean than met the eye, and he found himself wondering why he knew 3D’s real name.</p><p>Derrick Daniel Drake, more commonly known as 3D, had to transfer to a school in California when his father remarried. Mitch Mattis, more commonly known as Match, ran into him a few years later, after his mother’s health had declined and she’d decided to retire early. They became quick friends with Joseph Skinner, who liked to be called Skinhead, and a demanding guy by the name of Beauford Tannen, more commonly called Biff. They terrorize the halls of their local high school even today.</p><p>Todd never let go of his grudge for Duncan, nor did he stop picking pockets when his cash ran short. It was ultimately a lonely affair, being the only recruit for Mystique, even as Xavier seemed to recruit more students every day. With each new recruit Mystique procured, Todd grew more confident, though, that the way he’d been recruited was by far the most interesting story.</p><hr/><p>-FIN-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A U T H O R S   N O T E {OG Note from 2007, y'all! For posterity!}</p><p>(Glances around furtively)</p><p>Yes…</p><p>Randomness…</p><p>I can’t believe I’ve finally set this monster to rest. 100 pages, 3 million edits, and 20 chapters later…sheesh. This story has, like, 100 reviews, and I’m sure it will only get more…and that makes me smile.</p><p>As for the rest of the plotholes? What the deal with the killer curling iron? Did Jean ever pick a field name? Does Michael J. Fox come into this story anywhere?</p><p>We can only draw our own conclusions, and hope for the best when the sequel comes out.</p><p>Much thanks to those of you who’ve stuck with me through all my sporadic updates and incorrect knowledge of the Cyclopes legend…</p><p>Much credit due to Broken Sword of the Morning, as well as Balrog Roike for helping me with my German, and to Slickboy444 for helping me with my story flow. To mi-chan17 for helping me with the x-universe accuracy, and to Abbs of the faeries for her awesome fangirl-worshipping of this humble authoress.</p><p>To CosmicPhoenix and Wen1, as well as asitiswhenitwas and Boleyn for reviewing fairly constantly, bugging me for updates and not giving up hope that I’d ever finish!</p><p>As for the rest of you? (for there are many…) Stick with me! I’ll keep your x-men needs abated with random one-shots until I can bring another monster to life…Until then? It’s been a pleasure!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>